Orange County
by guiltlessgleek
Summary: I've spent my life screwing it up. So when I get caught stealing & crashing a judge's car, I know it's the last straw. At least it is until a D.A. gets me out of Juvie and offers me a ride home. Of course neither of us expected my mom to be so pissed and drunk that she threw me out to the streets. With no where for me to stay, the D.A. is taking me home with him. Based off The OC
1. Chapter 1: The Goddess

Chapter 1: The Goddess

The sun breaks through the trees and warms my face as I gaze out the passenger window. I haven't said a word since we left _it_ - Juvie that it is. What was there to say anyway? "Thanks for taking pity on a poor _criminal_ like me?" Don't get me wrong - It's not that I'm ungrateful. It's just that...well, he's the _D.A_. And not just any D.A., but the big shit, top shelf, eat punks like me for breakfast- "_Chief Assistant District Attorney_". But if you ask me, it's just another name for "Biggest Dick". And when the "Dick of all Dicks" suddenly takes a liking towards someone like me, you worry - ALOT. It's not every day a prosecutor pulls some strings to get you out of jail early and offers you a ride home. They don't do shit like that - ever. It's unheard of. I'm still not sure why he did it. I guess he feels bad for me, people usually do. Of course neither of us expected my mom to be so fucking pissed and drunk that she threw me out to the streets. With no where for me to stay, the "Big Dick" couldn't in "good conscience leave me here on the street." So, he's taking me home with him, until my mom sobers up or cools off - which ever comes first. Turns out, the "Big Dick" isn't a big dick after all.

In my peripheral vision, he turns towards me. "I see potential in you Finn."

I purse my lips. Great. Let me just go ahead and add his name to the "_People I tried not to disappoint, but fucked up anyway_" list. Potential? Does he not remember leaving Juvie, where I was held for grand theft auto!? In my defense, I didn't intend on stealing and crashing the prize possession of one of the meanest judges in California - that was just a cruel coincidence. _"Please do this for me bro. I need your help, bro. We won't get caught, bro. Promise_" Ha. Guess who's eating those words now, huh? Try to help out a friend and look where that gets me. I suppose I had it coming, considering my affection towards rebellion. But, that's what you get when you grow up in the Californian ghetto, surrounded by criminals, with no parental figures. Oh - I had guardians, sure. If you count an alcoholic mother and her also alcoholic, almost my age, abusive boyfriend. I wish I had known my father, a supposedly heroic war vet. He died when I was a baby, and mom just went downhill after that. But there's nothing rare about me where I come from. I'm a sheep among sheep, or whatever that saying is. We're all alike. So this D.A. guy is crazy if he thinks there's any good left in these bones.

He makes a sharp left turn into a gated community. I've been in this part of Newport Beach once. I needed some cash to pay the electric bills (God knows mom's too busy staring down the bottom of a bottle, and fuck me if I was taking a cold shower), so I robbed the rich to give to the poor. Well, the rich don't fuck around, they get pissed - quickly, and I got caught. Thus my first offense - a B&E.

We make another left into a culd-a-sac. These must be the biggest houses I've seen yet. He pulls into a driveway, parks and shuts the car off. "Wait here. I have to talk to my wife, I'll be back soon." He moves to get out of the car and hesitates, knowing my history. Glancing at the keys, "I'll take these with me," he says, removing them from ignition. Huh. He's not as dumb as he looks.

I gaze around the car, suddenly feeling hotter and claustrophobic, my leather jacket feeling tighter like I'm back in that small ass cell. I laugh at myself - it's ironic to feel so trapped considering the size of the D.A.'s luxury BMW SUV. I step outside, the evening air filling my lungs and get my first full view of the _mansion_ in front of me. The house dwarfs me and my 6'3 frame, with its tall, thick white columns surrounding the huge, intricately designed, glass double doors. It's white and cream in color and it looks like it's made of marble, with massive windows. Palm trees surround the driveway and I can't see the backyard, but I'd bet my last dollar it's overlooking the beach. This house could hold ten of mine, easy. Ok, this guy's wife must have tits that produce cash instead of milk. There's no way he can afford this swanky place. I shake my head, deciding I need a cigarette to clear my thoughts. I start towards the street, not wanting to piss off Mr. and Mrs. Cash Tits by throwing a bud on their perfectly manicured lawn. Reaching the street, I light my stog, taking a puff. As I look up, my eyes land on a pair of legs - perfect, in all their shiny, bronze, sculptured glory. I drag my eyes up towards her hips and it seems to take minutes, hours, days. She's tiny, but seriously, these delicious stems go on forever. Was she wearing shoes? I don't even know. I finally reach her hips, clad in the shortest pair of white shorts, accentuating her California sun kissed tan. I can't help but imagine my hands on those hips, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around me, doing sinful, dirty things to her. She's wearing a red ruffled - what the hell are ruffles anyway? - tank top, exposing a tiny hint of her small, but perfect chest. Her dark hair is in soft curls, her bangs falling just above her dark, wide eyes. She's not wearing much makeup, which I like. The setting sun illuminates her figure, causing her to fucking _glow_. My glaze lands on her plump, juicy, fuck-me-red colored lips. Subconsciously, I lick mine. _Holy fucking hell, I've died and gone to heaven_. Forget lung cancer, it was a heart attack that did me in. This chick is a _**goddess**_. She looks away from her phone and up at me, her eyes giving me a once-over. I swallow.

"Who are you?" She asks, flashing her pearly whites and - shit, another heart attack. She even _sounds_ like a goddess.

"Whoever you want me to be," I huskily reply, my words seeping with confidence, the cig still on my lips. And although I just met her, I meant it. I'd be her fucking gardener if she asked me to. On my knees, covered in dirt, yanking weeds out of her garden, while she sits poolside in a teeny barely-there bikini, bronzing that delicious skin. I shake the image from my head.

"Ok," she tufts, looking down and away from me, suddenly shy. She takes a deep breath. "You shouldn't smoke, you know. It damages your throat and vocal cords, it's unrepairable."

My vocal cords? What the hell do I care about my vocal cords? And why would she? She takes a step towards me. "So what are you doing here? Seriously."

"Seriously?" I take a drag, exhaling before continuing. "I stole a car...crashed it. Went to jail, got out. My mom was pissed, drunk...and threw me out. Mr. Hummel took me in." I take another drag.

She glares at me for a couple of seconds before that perfect face breaks into a smile. "So you're the cousin from Boston?" she says, her eyes sparkling.

I smile, looking her straight in the eyes. "Yeah."

She tears her gaze from mine to look behind me.

"Hi Rachel."

"Mr. Hummel, I was just meeting your nephew," the goddess, now known as Rachel, replies, smiling, her eyes locking with mine again.

Mr. Hummel looks between us, briefly confused. "Oh! My favorite nephew, Finn." He clasps his hand on my shoulder. "All the way from Seattle."

"Seattle?" she asks, looking back at me, still smiling.

"Dad lived there. Mom was from Boston." I reply, smirking at my quick wit.

"Mmhmm," she nods.

Mr. Hummel changes she subject. "So Rachel, we're all excited about your talent show fundraiser tomorrow."

"Really... You are?" She challenges, keen on his lack of enthusiasm.

For the first time, I take my eyes off of her to glance at him. He runs his hand over his bald head and laughs. "No."

Rachel giggles, not shocked by his honest answer, and it sounds like heaven. I'm sure an angel just got it's wings. A huge black pick-up pulls up in front of us. It's tires screech as it comes to a stop, music blasting, windows down. One glance at the driver and I know it's her boyfriend. A typical Cali surf douchebag, clad in a blue, just as douchey Hawaiian shirt. His ugly blond, curly hair is caked in so much gel, the dude must have showered with it. His large, tinted black truck tells me one thing: pencil dick. "Come on, let's go," he barks at Rachel. What a tool. I don't hide the grimace on my face.

She turns towards me. "Hey, you should come by, check it out." She shrugs. "If you don't have any other plans." She smiles, steps off the curb and sneaks one last glance at me. "See ya," she says before jogging up to the douche-mobile and getting in. Time seems to slow as she leans in to King Douche and gives him a kiss. My insides lurch.

"Goodnight!" I hear Mr. Hummel yell, before the Douche floors it and the goddess is gone, just as fast as she appeared. I sigh, wondering how I so quickly went from hating this place to thinking its not so bad after all. I can't get comfortable though; I wont be here long. I'll stay a few nights, let my mom cool off and be back to the stench of alcohol and garbage that is my home. Mr. Hummel turns to me, "Let's go inside."


	2. Chapter 2: The Man in the Apron

Chapter 2: The Man in the Apron

I return to the car and grab my shit - everything I own fitting neatly into a backpack - how pathetic. Hummel leads us inside the mansion and I close the door behind me. I thought it looked big from the outside, fuck what a fool I was. This place is straight out of _Forbes Magazine_. We enter the living room -no, den? Living room #1? - Cause with a house this size, there's bound to be more than one- Whatever the _"I wipe my ass with $100 bills" _call it. You could fit a swimming pool in here no doubt - the huge ones, like the kind you see in the Olympics. The far wall is entirely made of glass windows and doors that line the backyard, providing a brief glimpse of - _duh_ - the beach. Mr. Hummel heads to the right. I pick my jaw up off the floor and follow him. We enter the kitchen - which is pretty much the size of my whole house - with large countertops, a steel stove, every possible appliance, a fridge I could fit in- twice over - and an island, complete with another stove top and wine rack - fully stocked may I add. This kitchen has everything and more. Shit.

I hear the_ clickity-clack_ of a woman's footsteps and sure enough Mrs. Cash Tits appears. Ok, so maybe I went a little too far with the name calling, and after seeing her I actually feel bad. She's not the typical O.C. _half my husbands age-blond barbie wannabe-plastic surgeon on speed dial_- kind of woman. She's, dare I say, normal? Her brown hair falls almost to her shoulders. She's short but hell most people are compared to me. Her face has an endearing, warming quality to it. As if they clearly got dressed in the same closet as her husband, she too is wearing a suit. It's white and tight against her body. She looks...respectable. Wait, _respectable_? Aw, how proper of me. These rich fucks are rubbing off on me already. She smiles, approaching us.

Mr. Hummel speaks first. "Finn, this is the Queen of the Manor herself, my wife Carole."

"Hello Finn, welcome to our home." Clasping her hands in front of her she adds, "Let me show you where you'll be staying."

I adjust the weight of my backpack and once again follow them around the house, feeling like an obedient lap-dog. Ha! Imagine a lap-dog my size. They head out the back door and towards what is presumably the pool house/guest house/does it matter? It's an extra house for God's sake. Inside, it's really nice - shocking, I know. It has a huge bed, desk, couch, full bathroom and even a mini kitchen, the walls lined with windows, also overlooking the beach. The housekeeper, who looks like she barely speaks a word of English, is making the bed, ignoring my presence.

Carole gestures to the room and towards the housekeeper. "If you need anything, Rosa here can help you." Rosa glances over her shoulder, forcing a smile, clearly pissed at yet another person to clean up after. I make a mental note not to be too hard on her. Though she probably makes good money, no one really wants to be someone else's bitch.

"Make yourself at home. We'll see you in the morning, Finn'" Mr. Hummel says, yet again clasping my shoulder. What the hell's with this guy? I'm not your kid, jackass. The Hummels and their housekeeper head back to the (main) house. I drop my bag and sit on the bed, falling backwards to stare at the ceiling. This place is unreal. I feel like _Little Orphan Fucking Annie_. Kicking my shoes off, I close my eyes. Fully dressed, I fall asleep, on top of the covers, refusing to feel the least bit comfortable here. Like I said, I won't be staying long. These people will forget me the minute I step through their front door. They'll spend the holidays with friends and champagne, laughing about time they let that charity case stay the night.

-xxxxxx-

I feel the sun on my face and I groan, turning over and covering my head with a pillow. Who's brilliant idea was it replace all of the walls with windows anyway? I'm in a fucking _fishbowl_, the sun pouring in, trapped, with no plants or fake submarines to hide behind. Ok, so maybe I'm a tad cranky until I've had a cup of coffee - which is rare at my house, when all the money is spent on liquor - so I imagine that's where my bitchiness comes from. I'm forever PMSing over a lack of caffeine. My mind wanders to the mansion's kitchen. There's bound to be a coffee machine in that endless abundance of appliances. I get up and - thinking of Rosa - make my bed.

I squint, the sun ever brighter as I enter the backyard. Whatever I saw last night, did no justice to the picture before me. There's a pool - ya know, one of those with only 3 sides, and the fourth looks like it just ends, and the water free flows off the side, into the horizon.. an infinite- intimate- or whatever it's called kind of pool- at the end of the yard, which did I mention sits on a fucking mountain? Seriously, this house is on a cliff, giving it the perfect view of the entire shoreline below. To the left of the pool there's a patio with tables and chairs. Surrounding the table is what looks like an outdoor kitchen - increasing this properties kitchen count to _three_ so far- with a grill, sink, fridge and bar. It's the epitome of a California Hills home. Deciding I can't possibly be any more floored by the amount of money dripping out of these people's asses, I remember my venture for caffeine and head into the house. The smell of breakfast deliciousness hits me like a Mac truck, and I inhale deeply. _Yum_.

"Oh! You must be Finn," the master of all that is breakfast says from his perch at the stove, a little too cheery for my liking. He's young, probably my age, but he's dressed like he's on his way to a fancy dinner (it's 10 fucking AM!), in dark blue dress pants, a matching jacket with gold buttons (neatly pressed), not a hair out of place on his perfectly brushed head, the look completed with a tiny gold sailboat pin and - what the hell - a fucking sailor hat. Who the hell dresses like this!? Clearly he's a _Brokeback Mountain _fan, not that I mind. What gets a man off is his business. Who am I to judge?

Oh, by the way, he's wearing a fucking _apron_, tied in a neat bow in the back. I clear my throat, his outfit distracting my brain and stealing my words. "Yeah," I manage to spit out. "And you are?"

"How silly of me, I'm Kurt! Kurt Hummel, Burt and Carole's son." Ah, so they had offspring after all. Not surprising. I mean, who would they leave all their money and shit to when they kicked the bucket? He wipes his hands on this _apron_ and offers me one, walking towards me. I shake it. "It's nice to meet you, Finn."

I mumble a mess of sounds, attempting an 'uh huh', my brain still a mess of words. He goes back to the stove and continues cooking. "Eggs? Pancakes? Toast? Bacon? I wasn't sure what you prefer, so I figured I'd just make everything, buffet style." I like this guy already, I decide.

As if in complete approval, my stomach growls. "It smells great. Any coffee?"

"It's already made, grab a cup," he says, gesturing to the cabinet next to him.

I make the coffee to my liking, the smell instantly lifting my mood, like a drug. I take a seat at the kitchen table, while '_fancy pants' _sets the food on the table and takes a seat across from me.

"Bon Appetit," he speaks in a mock Italian accent, reaching for the food, but only taking small amounts of each - probably _watching his figure_. I load my plate with some of everything and dig in like it's Christmas morning and I just woke up to a room full of presents, the quicker I eat, the closer I get to opening presents - not that I would know the feeling.

Mr. Hummel enters the kitchen, hands full of groceries, looking strikingly different dressed in casual clothes, his bald head covered with a baseball cap - SF Giants - my favorite team. Out of the suit, he's less intimidating and _dickish_. Setting the bags down, he heads to the table, eyes devouring the buffet before us. He sits next to Kurt and faces me, speaking while filling his plate. "I see you've met our son, the Master Chef, Kurt." Subtlety mocking the amount of food on the table. It's enough to feed an Army.

I nod, my mouth full of food.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, _Dad_. It provides the right amount of sustenance necessary for a challenging, extensive day. Plus, I need the energy _now_ because it's light grazing for the rest of the day. I can't have a full stomach for the talent show. It's incredibly tacky, not to mention an imposition. And the stage adds a few pounds." Kurt grimaces. "I need my voice in tip top shape if I'm gonna steal the show from Rachel." He turns to look at me. "Take seconds, Finn, please. There's plenty of food."

Mr. Hummel responds in a perfectly parental way, I'm sure. But I don't hear it because my mind zeroes in on one of Kurt's words: _Rachel_ - the hot piece of ass brunette I met last night - the neighbor from heaven, dressed in the color of the devil. She mentioned some bullshit about her vocal cords, too. Shit, her and Kurt even talk alike. They must be friends - chicks love the gays. He has ties to Rachel _and_ he's basically stuffing food down my pie hole. _Awesome_. The Rachel fog in my mind suddenly lifts._** The talent show**_.

I swear these people can read my fucking mind, because suddenly Mr. Hummel says, through a mouth full of bacon, "Any plans tonight Finn? How about a trip to the local high school?"

-xxxxx-

**To everyone reviewing, following and favoriting, THANK YOU! It means the world to me! :) This is my first story. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Loving the Finn/Kurt bromance. The talent show will fun!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Sack of Potatoes

Chapter 3: The Sack of Potatoes

"Hey Kurt...don't you think it's a little _windy_ today for that hat?" I ask as I help him bring dishes to the sink after breakfast. If he insists on giving me the, "Royal tour of all the best that is Newport", I insist he loses that hat. He's a walking advertisement for the Navy for Christ sakes. And I'm pretty sure even the Navy wouldn't approve.

"Nice try, Finn. I may have just met you, but it's obvious you don't understand cutting edge men's wear fashion. Anna Wintour would be insanely jealous of my highly perceptive eye. I'm _ahead_ of the curve. Your boring, though nicely fitted white T-shirt and leather jacket are so _cliche_. I will admit you can certainly fill out a pair of Sasquatch-size jeans though."

I avoid looking him in the eyes, bringing my hands in front of my jeans to cover my _Crown Jewels_, self conscious of his "perceptive eye" wandering to places it shouldn't. I raise an eyebrow, trying to convey my confusion towards this Winter person and my reluctance to actually be _seen_ with someone in such an outfit.

"The accessories make the outfit, Finn. And Anna Wintour is the editor of _Vogue_..._magazine_," he adds, annoyed at my puzzled expression and aware of my hesitancy to leave the house with a pride parade flag, but choosing to ignore it nonetheless.

I roll my eyes. Damn, at least I tried. Resigning to my fate, I sigh. _Fuck it._ "Whatever."

-xxxxxxx-

Kurt takes me to the boardwalk. He goes easy on me and we only enter a few stores, luckily. We spend the majority of the day at the arcade, blowing the cash his dad gave him and eating ice cream. (Kurt's is a small, low-fat frozen yogurt of course.)

"So how old are you, Finn?" He asks, looking up at me and finishing his fro-yo as we walk side by side along the boardwalk.

"Sixteen."

He nods. "Me too." After a few steps he adds, "What do you want to do after high school?"

"I dunno," I answer honestly. In my neighborhood, kids don't finish high school. They end up in jail or drop out to get a job and support whatever's left of their pathetic, drug addicted family. In my case, probably both. Even if I did actually go to class and manage to graduate, college isn't an option. I can't afford to even _think_ about tomorrow and he's planning years ahead. Fucking rich kids.

"I do," Kurt says. "I'm going to New York."

"New York, huh?" I bite my lip, trying to hide my amusement. _Fancy pants_, in New York? He'd be eaten alive! New York City would open its mouth and swallow him whole. At least he'd be thoroughly dressed for the occasion.

"Yup." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. We stop to sit on a bench facing the ocean. "You know, you could do whatever you want if you just apply yourself. Back at the arcade, in minutes you destroyed games it took me years to beat - tough ones, that require strategy and patience. There's more to you than meets the eye, Finn."

I turn my head away from him, refusing to acknowledge the heavy weight between us. He doesn't know shit about me. I'm not some fixer-upper that'll shine and purr with a new coat of paint and an oil change. I can't be helped, end of story.

-xxxxxxxxxx-

Standing in front of the mirror, I try again. Stupid tie. Why do I need to wear a suit to a _talent show_, anyway? Just another excuse to see who's got the bigger dick, or in this case, the deeper pocket. So they can shove in each others faces how much cash they burn on stupid, pointless shit like clothes while pretending to raise money for things other than their latest stint under the knife. Sighing, I rip the tie off my neck. "Fuck it, I don't need one anyway," I growl, completely frustrated. Forgoing the tie altogether, I slip into the black jacket just as Mr. Hummel enters the guest house.

"Wow, look at that! It fits you beautifully. Where's your tie?" he asks, walking toward me, in a suit pretty much identical to the one I'm wearing, his bald head shining. I'm surprised his suits fit me. I'm a couple inches taller than him.

I look at him through the mirror. "I'm not gonna wear one. Open collar - it's a good look," I reply, fidgeting with the collar.

He smiles, stifling a laugh. "I didn't know how to tie a tie until I was twenty five. Come on, give me your tie."

Placing it around my neck, he continues. "Now, the skinny side has got to be shorter than the fat side. How much shorter? It changes tie to tie. Sometimes, it's just a mystery." There's an awkward pause while he finishes tying. I wonder how many times he's pictured a similar scenario: his hands around the neck of a punk like me that he fried up and served on a platter, slowly tightening until there's no air left in their lungs, his day suddenly one case shorter. "So, you hung out with Kurt, huh? He's an interesting kid if you get to know him."

"Yeah, he's cool," I say, grateful to have his hands far away from my throat.

"Alright, turn around."

I don't recognize the man in the mirror. (What? Michael Jackson is a _legend_!) Anyway, I look good. But don't let that illusion fool you. It's like lipstick on a pig; an expensive suit on a broke criminal. Abruptly, I have trouble breathing and I wonder if Mr. Hummel _did_ in fact tie the tie too tight.

-xxxxxxx-

Flash forward an hour and I'm standing on the steps of the McKinley Prep court yard, overlooking the _garden_ and _fountain_, engulfed by spoiled rotten brats and their stuck up as fuck parents. I can't even hear myself think over the sound of their fake laughter and the clinking of their champagne glasses. A waiter approaches, tiredly reciting a list of foods I can't pronounce, offering me a tray of shit that looks like it's already been digested. I shake my head. No fucking thanks. Kurt walks up beside me and leans in to whisper.

"Welcome to the dark side."

I let the words mull over in my mind for the next hour as drunken cougars grab my attention and attack from all angles like I'm a bloody carcass; poking and prodding and eye fucking the shit out of me. These crazy bitches would flirt with a beer can, as long as it had a pulse and the slightest possibility of a big house and thick wallet.

"You must be the cousin from Boston. I don't know how you do it. I could never live there. I hate the cold!"

"Do you like Seattle? I mean all that rain...isn't it depressing?"

"Did I hear you're from Canada?"

Managing to escape their talons, I head towards the bar. I feel violated - I need a fucking drink. Getting the bartenders attention, I order a Seven & Seven, hoping he doesn't question my age. Luck is on my side and he hands me the drink. Taking a sip, I turn and almost walk straight into Carole. _Fuck_.

She smiles, having caught me in the act and puts her hand out. Cursing that damn lucky star, I hand her my drink. "Thank you," she says. "I want my husband to be right about you. He seems to think you're a good kid."

I smile uneasily and nod as she walks away in her shiny black dress. What is so hard for them to understand? I'm a fucking _criminal_. I spend my life fucking it up. It's what I do, what I've always done. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Kurt standing by the fountain. I use my height to my advantage to see what has his attention. Ugh, the surfer prick from last night: Rachel's _boyfriend_. Kurt waves awkwardly in King Douche's direction.

"Heyy Jesse."

Jesse glares at Kurt with a look of disgust before his frown flips into a slimy grin. "Hey!" He moves so close to Kurt that I take a step forward, expecting a fight. "Suck it, Queer," I hear Jesse spit before he walks passed Kurt annoyed, intentionally bumping into his shoulder.

Pissed off, I head towards Kurt. "What the hell man? Why do you let him treat you like that?"

He sighs. "He's the head pupil of the drama department. I need to be on his good side if I want a lead part in this year's play."

"Screw that. He's an asshole. There's got to be another way."

He purses his lips. "Well, I guess there's always Rachel... our neighbor and Jesse's girlfriend." _Of-fucking-course I know who she is. _"She has leverage in the drama department, too. But..." His words fade to silence.

"But what?" I ask, my voice scratchy and throat dry from the mention of _her_ name alone.

"We're not friends anymore." _Damn_. "We were close for years until she started dating Jesse, and he basically forced her to disown all of the _losers_ she called friends because he's too _rich and popular_ to breathe the same air as us."

King Douche just raised himself a few notches on my prick-o-meter. So maybe Kurt is a little farther in left field than everyone else... like far, far, FAR, all the way to the bleacher seats far...but, he's not a bad guy. He deserves a place in that stupid play. Just because I'm a lost cause doesn't mean Kurt should be too. I guess I have some bridges to mend before leaving Newport if I plan on helping Kurt and getting into Rachel's pants. Or should I say dress? ..._Very short dress_, I pray, crossing my fingers.

-xxxxxxx-

After the cougar cocktail hour, I settle in my seat next to Mr. and Mrs. Hummel at a table close to the front of the stage. Yeah, a _table_. Because, ya know, these people can't survive a couple of hours without sitting on their asses being served numerous culinary creations and everlasting bubbly refills. How the hell did they fit all of these tables in here anyway? The lights dim and a spotlight hits the stage, illuminating the heavy red curtain. I hear her footsteps before she enters my view and I refrain myself from getting out of my chair and pouncing on her.

_**Rachel**_. She's in a pink, _short_, totally girly dress, her long, dark hair straight and shiny. Her legs shimmer as she walks towards the middle of the stage and I'm vaguely aware that I'm drooling. She looks flawless - like one of those dolls I remember seeing at the local "day care" (and by day care I mean the old lady who lived across the street who was willing to "watch" - translation: sleep - the youngins while their parents fucked around drinking and forgetting they had children) - before they were used and dirty - when I was five. A doll I imagine doing sinful, unmentionable things to, causing my pants to feel two sizes too small. _Focus, pervert._

She clears her throat. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all so much for coming! Every year we hold a talent show to raise money for the Battered Women's Shelter. It's such a good cause! We couldn't do any of it without your support and the numerous individuals who have lent their time and talent for your entertainment tonight. Enjoy the show!" She smiles, bearing all of her perfect, white teeth, and walks off the stage. Shit, after that speech I'd donate my fucking kidneys - both of them - and die a happy man, the glowing smile of the angel on that stage the last image on my dying brain. That girl knows how to capture the attention - and wallet - of every man in this room.

The show begins with some Asian dude busting out the best dance moves I've seen. He's damn good - better than those stupid _Step Down_ movies that dumbass people pay a pretty penny to see when all they need to do is a take a trip to the ghetto. Dance offs are a daily occurrence there - shitfaced teens really know how to shake their asses. Not me though - fuck no. Last time I tried dancing I gave a dude a black eye and broke his front teeth - feeling generous, he returned the favor. I gave up after that.

The show continues, quite uneventful and I feel like gouging my eyes out. Though there's a few good acts - more singing, dancing, a band, some dude with an accordion (and Kurt's a loser!?), a juggler, a shitty magician- and some good looking chicks. Obviously money can't buy talent. This is fucking torture.

Like a neatly dressed fairy godmother, Kurt prances onto the stage, coming to my rescue (or so I hope). He takes his place in front of the microphone as the music starts. I don't recognize the song. His voice is on the higher side, but it fits him. He marches back and forth angrily singing about it being _his turn_. He's overly dramatic and looks at home on that stage. I need to get him in that play - fast. The guy needs an outlet for all of that frustration or he might explode. He ends the song holding the incredibly high last note longer than necessary, but I don't mind. Hands down, he's talented. I clap enthusiastically along with a pair of proud looking Hummels. I'm not the least bit surprised when he _curtsies_ and skips off stage.

The room grows suddenly quiet as the next act enters and my mouth feels dry. It's _her_. Her hair is pulled back and over her shoulder, her bangs to the side, giving me a clear view of her gorgeous face. She stops in front of the microphone as I reach for the glass of water in front of me. With my eyes glued to her, I knock it over, making a loud noise and causing the woman next to me to shriek and stand to avoid the advancing flow of water. I grab the closest napkin and try my best to clean it up. Lifting my head, I freeze. Every pair of eyes in the room is trained on me, including Rachel's. Our eyes lock, and she smiles. In my peripheral vision, the woman now misplaced, finds another seat. Rachel looks to her right at the DJ and gestures for the song to start. I settle back in my seat, blushing and incredibly embarrassed. _Way to go, jackass_. The song begins with a few notes that sound like a harp (she really IS an angel). I don't recognize this one either, but I couldn't give a shit less because she's staring at me as she opens her mouth to sing and every coherent thought escapes my brain. Everything and everyone in this room disappears. I only have eyes for her. The song is slow, and beautiful and I've never heard anything like it. I'm flying high with the sound of her voice and the look in her eyes, that I don't comprehend any word that's coming out of those sweet, sweet lips. I catch a few words here and there - like "world," "man," "love," and "forevermore". But I don't think, I just _feel_ - everything, all at once. I feel my heart leap out of my chest and onto that fucking stage, soaring towards her. Before I know it, the song is over. She's crying and I'm crying and _what the fuck just happened!?_

The room erupts into applause and I jump, suddenly aware of a hundred other people in the room. She smiles, her eyes sparkling and bows. Mentally, I give her a standing ovation and whistle. Physically, I just sit there, like a sack of fucking potatoes, dumbfounded, forgetting how to clap.

-xxxxxxx-

_**Hope chapter 3 was enjoyable! Thanks for sticking with my story. If there's any O.C. fans out there, look for quotes! I throw them in whenever possible. I try to keep fairly close to the storyline, but put my own glee twist on it. :) Thanks for reading and please review**_!


	4. Chapter 4: The Punch Bowl

Quick side note: This is just a reminder that this story is based off of the tv show "The O.C." Though I use characters from Glee, I mix their personalities with characters from The O.C., but this doesn't apply for _all_ characters. I also use real O.C. quotes whenever possible. So if you've seen the show, you'll most likely recognize them. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 4: The Punch Bowl

Shaking sense into myself, I wipe my eyes and stand abruptly, righting my chair before I knock it over. This room feels like an oven: 400 degrees and stifling. I notice the concerned look of the Hummels and mumble, "Bathroom," practically sprinting towards the door before either have the chance to question me. I ignore the strange looks and judging eyes of many as I pass. In the hallway, I make a right, having no idea where the hell I'm going but knowing I have to get there fast. I pass a few trophy cases, casting quick glances at them as I rush by. I stop dead in my tracks at the pompous, shit eating grin of Jesse the King Douche. There's tons of photos of him in plays and concerts, in costume and out, hands in the air triumphantly like he won the fucking lottery. An entire case is dedicated to him - throw in a few lit candles and it's a fucking _shrine_ - and it's creepy. No wonder he's such a cocky bastard - he's _worshiped_ here. I lean in to get a better look at the closest trophy: "_2011 Regional Show Choir MVP: Jesse St. James."_ Big goddamn deal. Speaking of cocks, where is that prick anyway? Would King Douche really flake on a chance in the spotlight? The _shrine_ in front of me says otherwise.

I make my way to the closest exit and step outside. Loosening my tie, I take a deep breath, grateful for fresh air. My vision is assaulted by an assortment of sports cars and gas guzzlers of every color - a car thief's wet dream: the valet parking lot. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ I lean against the building and light a cig to distract myself from doing something stupid. Inhaling, I bask in the familiar feeling that washes over me, calming my frantic nerves. Did I seriously just _bawl_ my eyes out like a whiny baby in a room full of uptight suits and fake tits? _Holy shit._ _Rachel is amazing_. I felt every damn emotion she conveyed - longing, despair, joy and love - deep down. And like a sucker punch to the gut, she left me breathless. I've never experienced that much _passion_. She's so full passion she moved the fucking mountain that guards my heart - in less than 3 minutes. A tall, wide fortress built from years of mistrust, anger, jail time and a crumbling home. I sigh. Like I have a chance with her anyway. This isn't a fairy tale. And I'm sure as shit not _Prince Charming. _There'll be no happy ending for me. The princess will ride off into the sunset with Jesse... on a fucking _surfboard_. And I'll head home with my head bowed and tail between my legs like I just pissed the carpet, ashamed to actually feel something.

I'm distracted from my mental rant by a loud moan and a giggle. The man of the hour, St. Jackass himself, stumbles out from behind a flashy red Ferrari, with a huge, satisfied smirk, disheveled. He's shortly followed by a big boobed Barbie wannabe in a short skirt, who looks like she'd shrivel up and disappear if she came within ten feet of another tanning bed. Recognition flashes across Jesse's face as he spots me against the building. His eyes narrow and his lips turn into a sneer. I guess he's not all _rainbows and sunshine_ about his girlfriend practically serenading me in front of his family and friends. Go figure. A bit hypocritical, don't you think? Maybe I don't know much about Rachel but what I do know is she's special - really special - and he doesn't deserve her. I take another drag of my cig and flick it. Pushing off the wall, I stand up straighter, my eyes fixed on the pair walking in my direction. St. Jackass doesn't look my way again. He marches past me, his nose in the air like I'm invisible. With the whore hot on his heels, he heads inside. Well, that explains his absence in the talent show. He was too busy shoving his _other_ talent down Malibu Barbie's throat.

Once inside, I realize the show's over. _Shit_. How long was I gone? Families and students are gathered in the hallways, moving in a mass towards the front of the building, like cows in a slaughterhouse. I follow the hoard in search of the Hummels. Just outside the main entrance, someone taps my shoulder. I turn and come face to face with a young Orville Redenbacher, sans glasses.

He's in a gray suit and red bow tie. _A bow tie?_ Is he fucking serious? Isn't there some unwritten rule that bow ties are reserved for pervy old men and five year olds on picture day? Anyway, he's perfectly groomed (I know, shocking) with slick, dark parted hair and thick, bushy eyebrows.

"Hey, where are you going?" He questions. _To make popcorn, you fucking idiot_. Where the hell does he think I'm going? As I open my mouth to answer, he cuts me off. "My friend Quinn's parents are letting us use their beach house...as a gift, ya know..because of all our hard work for charity." I raise an eyebrow. Get to the point, _Redenbacher_.

"If you need a ride," he gestures to the piss yellow Jeep behind him, "Or _anything_, I'm Blaine." He smirks, holding his hand out. Befuddled, I shake it, becoming unnerved when he grips it longer than necessary and eyes me like a rack of ribs. I yank my hand back, suddenly uncomfortable. He turns and heads towards the Jeep and I exhale, relieved. Before I can wrap my head around that strange encounter, Kurt appears with a wide eyed expression of horror.

"_Why were you talking to Blaine?"_ He whispers accusingly, leaning in and glancing around suspiciously as if we're about to commit a heinous crime. Is Kurt jealous of my chit chat with _Redenbacher_?

"Um.. He invited me to that girl Quinn's place...to some party."

His wide eyes grow even bigger and he puts his hand over this mouth in shock. Fancy pants is so dramatic. "He did?" His eyes wander as if he's thinking it over. "Just you?"

Realizing the issue, I add, "Us! He invited both of us," I lie out of my ass. "We should go."

He smirks, and I know I've got him by the balls. "Really? He did?"

I nod, hiding my satisfaction. "Come on Kurt, it'll be fun." What else would we do anyway? Sit around with our thumbs up our asses, discussing the pros and cons of sweater vests? "Plus, Blaine offered us a ride."

Tilting his head to the side, he concedes, shrugging. "Ok." He heads towards the Jeep and looks over his shoulder. Spotting his dad in the crowd, he yells, "I'm going out with Finn, Dad!"

From the passenger seat, Blaine "Woo!"s enthusiastically, both hands in the air as we get in the car, and I wonder what the fuck I just got myself into. My reservations are short lived however, when I see Rachel getting into the Douche mobile, waving in Blaine's direction with a, "See you there!"

_Hell yeah._ This could be my only chance to get to know Rachel more... Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? Talking is the last thing I want to do with her. I grin picturing how my night will play out: Rachel bent over, taking me from behind, screaming when I smack that perfect ass of hers; Rachel on top of me, riding me like her life depends on it, her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy; Rachel sprawled out on the bed in front of me, touching herself and begging for my dick. My heart pounds in my chest, just as excited as what's in my pants. In every scenario I imagine, the only words exchanged between us are, "Uhh! Yes! Oh God! Harder, Finn! Don't stop, don't stop..ohhhh Fuck!"

This will be the best _fucking_ night of my life.

-xxxxxxxx-

"Is that a new purse, Rachel?" Mercedes asks over the music, leaning over the punch bowl and eyeing the white Birkin bag on my arm.

I smile, proud of the newest addition to my closet. "Yeah."

She rolls her eyes. "Do your dads _ever_ say no?"

"I doubt it," Blaine says, shaking his head and smiling at me.

He hands me the ladle and I fill my cup with punch. "What's in this?" I ask no one in particular, my nose crinkling at the strong stench of alcohol.

"It's my specialty. A little of this, a little of that. It'll knock you on your butt and then some," Quinn answers, pushing between Mercedes and Blaine. She grabs the ladle and tops off her cup. Catching on to my hesitancy, she adds annoyed, "It won't kill you Rachel."

I look to the ceiling and take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. Being Jesse's girlfriend means putting up with_ "My daddy's richer than yours and I'm better than everyone" _Quinn Fabray - especially now that school is about to start again. So that's exactly what I do, I put up with her. I keep my thoughts to myself and a fake smile on my lips, nothing more, nothing less. We're not _friends_. I don't have _friends_. I have Blaine and Mercedes I guess, but they're not the chick flick marathon, late night sleepovers, share your deepest, darkest secret kind of _friends_. I haven't had one of those since Kurt... and if I'm being honest, I miss him. But I keep my head high and try not to let Quinn affect me. It's obvious she treats me like I'm dirt on her _precious cheer uniform _because she's jealous of my voice. She should be. It's going to get me out of here. My voice is the ticket to my future and I won't screw it up. If that means staying sober at one of the biggest parties of the year, then so be it.

"Look who I brought," Blaine smirks, waving his hand towards the front of the room. All four of us turn our attention towards the door.

My eyes find him as he steps into the room and my heart_ free falls_ out of my chest and through the floor. _**Finn**_. He navigates through the crowd, Kurt following close behind.

"Who is that? He's _cute_," Quinn says, drinking him in like she's been stranded in the desert. I'm not at all surprised. He's a huge glass of _"Tall, Dark and Handsome" _and I'd drink him too if I could. Not quick, but slow, savoring every last drop of him. I'd run my fingers through his short, messy brown hair and graze my hands across his big, firm chest. _Big_ - yes he's certainly _big_. Big hands, big arms, big feet, big... _everything_. He's gorgeous and mysterious and clumsy. I giggle recalling the talent show fiasco and the red tinge of his embarrassed cheeks. Could he be more adorable? He's _trouble_ and I want - _Jesse_. _I have Jesse_. I swallow, trying to keep myself together. What is it about _"Tall, Dark and Handsome" _that makes my pulse race and blood run dry? Finn's lips break into a huge smile and he laughs revealing the deepest dimples and - _**oh God**_ - he's looking at me. Our eyes meet and my stomach somersaults. My hands become sweaty and I tighten the grip on my cup, afraid I'll drop it._ Snap out of it Rachel_.

"I bet he has a thing for cheerleaders," Quinn says raising her eyebrows suggestively, her eyes still glued to Finn. I fight the urge to slap her. She has a look in her eyes like she's planning something dirty, and I'm suddenly infuriated. _I have a boyfriend, it's none of my business. I have a boyfriend, it's none of my business,_ I repeat, hoping it will sink in. I peel my eyes away from Finn and find Jesse surrounded by partygoers, the center of attention as usual. I can tell by the melodramatic waving of his arms and the eager expression on his face that he's telling the same, monotonous story I've heard a _thousand_ times. Focusing all of my attention on him, I wait for the slightest flutter of my heartbeat or a single flick of a butterflies wing - nothing. I sigh. Maybe I don't feel heart attacks and butterflies when it comes to Jesse, but... I do love him.

"Wish me luck," Quinn says to us with a wink. I watch her make her way towards Finn, eyes piercing and claws out like a hawk swooping in on it's prey and suddenly, I change my mind. _A few drinks won't hurt._ Lifting my cup to my lips, I chug every drop and refill it. There's no way I'm staying to watch this wild act of nature. She'll throw herself at him and he'll like it because she's pretty and a cheerleader. She's... _single_. _And I'm with Jesse._

With my drink and my Birkin, I head towards the living room intending to erase my mind of all things _Finn_ with a truckload of shots and some drinking games.

-xxxxxxxxx-

Do you know what I love about alcohol? It gives you _liquid courage_. And three "specialty" drinks and two shots later, I'm fearless. In fact, I'm feeling so courageous, I forget all about the card game I'm playing and walk straight towards the punch bowl. Why? Because "_Tall, Dark and Handsome_" just went for a refill.

Reaching my destination, I smile flirtatiously, running my fingers along the counter. It may or may not be the alcohol taking over my body. I slant my head back to look up at him - damn he's tall. He's _**so hot**_ - fresh out of the fire, _smokin' hot._ Having removed his jacket, he's wearing only a white dress shirt and pants. The top three buttons are undone and his black tie is hanging loosely around his neck. I want to grab it and tug him over the counter towards me. His sleeves are rolled up, providing a glimpse of his big, strong arms, which he flexes as he pours his drink. I've never seen a suit look this _appetizing_. I want to lick every inch of him. _Jesse! Don't forget about Jesse._

His eyes flick down at me and I feel myself leap off the proverbial diving board and into the deep end that is the warm golden brown of his eyes. I swim for what feels like hours along the contours of his jaw and bathe in the scattering of his freckles. He doesn't say anything. He just stares, bringing the cup to his luscious lips, poised to take a sip. I grab it out of his hand and drink it.

"So what do you think about Newport?" I ask, enjoying the slight shock that flashes across his face as he watches me finish his drink.

He studies me intently, his eyes saying more than his mouth ever could. Tilting his head to the side he says, "Think I can get in more trouble where I'm from." The butterflies in my stomach explode with excitement as his lips turn into this _knee-weakening_ lop sided grin, baring those God-given dimples again. _You have a boyfriend, Rachel!_ Time slows down or speeds up, I'm not sure because I'm lost in space the moment our eyes meet. And in a distant corner of my brain, now hazy thanks to the punch bowl, I hear, _JesseJesseJesseJesseJesseJes se_.

"Hey, Berry!" I hear Mercedes yell, bringing me back to earth and back to reality. I turn my head to look at her. "It's your turn to deal," she says, shaking the cards in her hands. I look back at Finn, grinning seductively.

"You have _no_ idea."

**_Author note: Don't worry, the party isn't over yet! :) Please review!_**


	5. Chapter 5: The Welcoming Committee

Chapter 5: The Welcoming Committee

"You have _no_ idea."

Rachel saunters away from me, in the _shortest fucking skirt ever_ and I'm hypnotized by the sway of her hips and the shape of her supple ass. At my side, my fingers itch to reach out and grab a handful of both cheeks. Jesse may be a two-timing prick, but he is one lucky fuck. That dress she had on earlier pales in comparison to this skirt. _Damn that fucking skirt. _All I can think about is picking her up by the ass and wrapping those goddess legs around me, finding the nearest wall and _slamming_ her against it. I'd kiss her lips and suck on her neck while my hands roam over every inch of her, under and over her clothes. When she's wet and ready for me, I'd pull her panties to the side, slide my dick in and use that wall for leverage, bouncing her in my lap and enthralled by the rhythm of her panting, never more thankful for the easy access of that _short fucking skirt_.

_Holy fuck._ I blink a few times, clearing the _steaming hot _images from my mind and store them for later. That is one fantasy I want to remember, _forever_. Looking down at my cup, I remember it's empty - _her lips were all over it _- and refill it. I'm fucking _sweating,_ and not because this party is packed like a sardine can and I downed half of the fucking punch bowl. I need some air. I take a step and hesitate because I haven't seen Kurt since he went to the bathroom. _Fuck it_, he'll find me outside. On my way, I graze past the blond who was practically throwing herself at me earlier and she winks at me. I smile. She's pretty and claims to be a cheerleader - she would _definitely_ look hot in that uniform. She made it clear that she wants me but... I don't want _her_. I shake my head, knowing exactly who it is I _do_ want: the untouchable tiny brunette vixen with incredible legs, kind eyes and a voice that makes even those who are dead inside, feel something.

I finally make it to the deck outside after pushing my way through the drunken, rowdy crowd. I find a spot to the side and lean against the railing. There's people on the beach and in the water screaming and laughing, but I can still hear the sound of the waves, and it calms me. I have a few peaceful moments to myself before someone yells, "YOU!"

I groan loudly when I see an unsteady Redenbacher stumbling towards me, drink in one hand and a wavering finger angled in my direction. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._

"Look... who I found!" He slurs as he reaches me, poking me with his finger and running it along the buttons of my shirt. With unfocused eyes, he sways forward and showers me in punch. _Son of a bitch!_ I take a step back to assess the damage. _Fuck, this shirt isn't mine, asshole!_ "Oops!" He laughs, finding my stained shirt hilarious and attempting to clean it by wiping his palm down my chest. I swat his hands away. "I'm waaasssttteeedd!" he declares proudly. He either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore the pissed off look on my face, because he stands on his toes and lifts his arms in the air, trying to wrap them around my neck. "So what's your name anyway?"

"Finn," I spit through gritted teeth, disengaging his arms and wiggling free of his grasp.

"Umm..." I hear someone say to my left and turn to find the speaker to be Kurt. "_What are you doing!?_" He asks accusingly, almost a whisper. From the crushed look on his face and the unshed tears in his eyes, it dawns on me. I was right earlier. I glance back at Blaine, who is looking between Kurt and I confused. Kurt _was_ jealous of my conversation with Redenbacher. _**Oh God.**_

"Kurt, it's not what you think! He's drunk!" I say, full of desperation. But I don't know if he hears me because he's already half way to the door. I run after him, pushing people out of my way. "Kurt! Kurt! Wait!"

I reach him just before he goes inside and I grab his arm. He whips around, tearing his arm away, infuriated, and I know I really upset him because he _shoves_ me, _**hard**_, and I falter.

"Don't touch me!" He screams. I hear a few gasps and realize we have an audience. Looking behind Kurt I see Rachel, wide-eyed and intent on the scene in front of her. _Shit! Could this get any worse!?_

It does. "YOU KNOW WHAT? WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO BACK TO CHINO! THERES A REALLY NICE CAR IN THE STREET THAT YOU CAN STEAL." He changes direction and pushes past me, running towards the beach. I stand there unmoving, shocked and unsure of what to do, while everyone stares - Rachel included. Deciding I need another drink to drown my sorrows, I walk inside, attempting to escape the judging eyes.

Turns out, inside isn't any better. News travels fast with rich kids, I should of known better. They huddle in groups, sneaking peeks at me like they're playing a game and I'm the fucking enemy. I chug my drink. This night did _**SO**_ not turn out as planned.

-xxxxxxxxxxx-

I give Kurt some time to cool off before I go looking for him. Remembering he took off towards the beach, I head outside to the deck and scan the horizon. About fifty feet from the shoreline, I spot him. He's standing around a bonfire near a group of guys. I can't make out much from a distance but his arms are moving like he's chucking sticks into the fire. I step off of the deck and into the sand to get a better look. Kurt's lips move as he mumbles something. A fucking huge _linebacker sized beast_ of a man steps up and gets in Kurt's face. _This can't be good_. He pushes Kurt into one of his friends, who pushes him back, continuing a cruel game of pass the rag doll before Kurt's pushed to the ground and blocked from my view. _**Shit**_. I drop my drink and take off sprinting towards them.

"HEY! HEY!" I scream when I'm close enough. By the time I get there, Kurt is being held upside down from his feet by the linebacker and his friends, who look disgustingly pleased with their actions. I catch the terrified look on Kurt's face and my stomach tosses in protest. "Put him down!" I yell. When they ignore me, I repeat it more forcefully, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists. "I SAID, PUT HIM DOWN!" After a long three seconds, they oblige, dropping him.

My agitation increases when St. Jackass appears, stepping out from behind the commotion with _Malibu fucking Barbie_. His _douchey_ shirt is half way unbuttoned and hanging off his left shoulder. "What's up dude? You got a problem?" _Fucking asshole_. He fixes his shirt, sizing me up and walking towards me. I grit my teeth thinking of Kurt and Rachel. _He's really pissing me the fuck off._

"You tell me," I sneer, stepping closer and using my height to look down on him like he's an ant I'm about to stomp on. I've had enough of his condescending attitude. I've held tongue and kept my place until now. But when he snakes his arms between us, shoving me, I _snap, _like a rubber band taut to its limit.

In one swift, fluid punch to the face, I knock him to the ground. _Suck on that, King Douche._ My victory is short lived however, when all hell breaks loose and I'm jumped by two of his goons. They push me to the ground, landing on top of me, wailing their arms and nailing whatever part of me they can reach. I twist and turn trying to shield myself and fight back at the same time, outnumbered and failing miserably. Some of the weight on top of me lifts and I see Kurt yanking one of the assholes off of me and receiving a punch to the face because of it. He falls to the ground and cradles his face.

I assume St. Jackass's _balls_ regenerated because he stands and wipes the blood from his nose, smirking, clearly satisfied with my predicament. I move in an attempt to get up and protect myself but the goon still on top of me forces me back down.

With all of his might, St. Douchebag kicks me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He laughs. "_Welcome to the O.C., bitch!_ This is how it's done in Orange County!"

-xxxxxxxxxx-

It takes Kurt and I an hour and a half to walk back to his house. I'm incredibly relieved when we enter the pool house. Kurt collapses on the couch and I follow suit on the bed. We lay there in silence and I'm grateful because it hurts to even breathe.

After a couple of minutes, Kurt speaks. "Well... I don't know what to say... except that you totally had my back out there." He pauses and looks me in the eyes. His bottom lip is bleeding and his clothes are a mess - _it must be taunting him. _"No ones ever stood up for me like that before." Another pause, "Thanks."

Pursing my lips, I nod acknowledging his thank you but still not ready to talk. He continues."I only have to put up with them for a couple more years before I'm out of Newport and bustling on the streets of the best city in the world." Oh yeah, _New York_. "I'm sorry about what I said before."

I sit up slowly, shaking my head to dismiss his worries. "Kurt... about what happened on the deck..." I start.

"Don't worry about it," he interrupts.

A few more minutes of silence pass. "So...Blaine, huh?"

"...Yeah." He smiles sheepishly. "And now thanks to you, I'm on his radar." He rearranges the couch cushions, making himself comfortable, lays down fully clothed and closes his eyes. He mumbles something inaudible and I lean forward a little to decipher it. "...what a night. I'm not gonna forget it, Finn."

I stare at him, letting what he says sink in. I carefully peel off my shirt and tie and lay back down.

-xxxxxxxx-

I don't know how long I laid there but Kurt's rhythmic breathing tells me he's asleep. Im unable to wind down with my mind replaying tonight's events. Maybe a cig will help. I sit up slowly and creep outside, not wanting to wake Kurt. Still afraid to smoke on the property, I head along the side of the house towards the street. Looking to my right, I have a full view of the driveway next door. A car pulls up and out steps two girls I don't recognize. They reach into the back and together they lug something out of the car. My heart seizes. _Rachel_. They giggle and grunt as they attempt to carry her up the driveway, one holding her arms, the other at her legs.

"I can't believe her!" One of them says.

"Shouldn't her _boyfriend_ be doing this? He's _so worthless_" She trips, causing both of them to falter and drop Rachel to the ground. I _cringe_ but Rachel doesn't move.

"Shhh!" The other giggles. "Berry, where are your keys!? Help me find her keys." She grabs Rachel's purse and rifles through it. "I can't find them."

"We can't wake her dads, they'll go ballistic!"

"I know, I know. Crap!" Giving up, she slaps the other girl on the arm and drops Rachel's purse. "Come on. Bye Berry!" They laugh as they run down the driveway, back to the car and drive away.

_**What**__! Are you fucking kidding me!? They just left her there!?_

I walk around to where she's laying on the pavement, relieved she's breathing and tap her shoulder. "Hey." No response. I'll look for her keys. I quickly dig my hand around her bag, not wanting to fully break my rule of _never looking in a girl's purse, ever. _No keys. I squat down beside her and shake her shoulder a tad more forcefully. Nothing - she's passed out. While I decide what to do, I let my eyes graze over her face. She has a freckle on her cheek and these crazy long eyelashes. Her lips are red and kissable. She's _so beautiful_. Shes still wearing that _short fucking skirt _but I dismiss any dirty thoughts and I tug it down, worried that it's a bit chilly and trying cover her further. Her hair is sprawled on the ground around her and I reach my hand out to run my fingers through it, pushing the bangs out of her eyes. I look up at her house - she's not even close to the door. I can't leave her here.

I put her bag on my arm and pick her up, hiding a wince. She's not heavy but my ribs still hurt. I carry her back to the pool house and put her in the bed. After removing her shoes, I cover her with the blanket and place her bag on the nightstand. Suddenly exhausted, I grab a pillow and lay on the floor.

_This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to make friends. I wasn't supposed to meet the girl of my dreams. I wasn't supposed to feel something. _

I sigh, defeated. I take one last look around the room before closing my eyes. Foretelling how my day will go tomorrow, this will be my last night in Newport.

-xxxxxxxx-

_**Please review! :)**_


	6. Chapter 6: The Note

Chapter 6: The Note

I awake the next morning to an aching body and a screaming Mrs. Hummel.

"THANK GOD! I'VE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU! I WAS SO WORRIED!"

My eyes slowly open and I groan - is it _really_ necessary that she yells right now? Mrs. Hummel, clad in a robe and pajamas, is standing next to the couch, hands on her hips, stink-eyeing a still suited and sleeping Kurt. I shift in my position on the floor and stretch my stiff limbs while the events of last night replay in my mind like a movie reel: the talent show, the party, the bonfire fight, a heart to heart with Fancy Pants, a passed out Rachel... _Rachel_! I sit up and whip my head towards the bed. It's empty - no purse, no shoes, no sign she was even here other than a messy bed. _Was that just a dream?_

Kurt lets out a long moan that sounds an awful lot like a whiny "Mooooommm," and flips over off of his stomach and onto his elbow.

Mrs. Hummel's concern fades quickly to shock as her eyes zero in on Kurt's head. "What happened to your face!? And your clothes!?" She demands, dragging her eyes over the what's left of him.

He glances at me, his eyes questioning, wondering if he should tell the truth. Hell, there's no point in denying the obvious, so I nod.

"I got into a fight," he mumbles in her direction.

Her face flashes with so many fucking emotions, I worry she's having a stroke. "With who!? Why!?"

Kurt sighs, annoyed and rubs his temples. "It's not a big deal Mom! I'm fine. And _please_ lower your voice, you're giving me a migraine."

She tuts and ignores his request. "Of _COURSE_ it's a big deal! You look like hell, Kurt!"

His eyes narrow and his jaw drops open in offense but he doesn't get a chance to speak because Mrs. Hummel suddenly lunges at him. "Let's go!" she yells, grabbing his arm and yanking him off of the couch in one swift motion. "House. Now."

He yelps, surprised and stumbles to get his footing while glancing back at me, portraying a look of "Help me!" and "Sorry!" at the same time. Yeah, Fancy Pants is meant for the stage alright.

His mom drags him through the door and into the backyard before stopping and turning to face me, finally acknowledging my presence. I sit, unmoving, afraid the slightest flinch might pull the pin in her grenade. She stares me down with laser-like eyes and I know that my presumption last night was accurate - _Hi ho hi ho, it's back to Chino I go._

After an incredibly tense game of chicken, she slams the door. I exhale, releasing a breath I wasn't aware I was holding, and lay back down. "_Fuck_", I growl in frustration, rubbing my hands over my face. A little more than 24 hours was all it took for me to fuck everything up - a new record. _Yippee fucking do da._

The day I arrived in Newport, Mr. Hummel said I "had potential." Oh sure, I have potential: potential to be a world class criminal, a shitty parent, or an alcoholic. It all comes down to _choices_ and whether or not you make the right ones. But choosing is a _bitch_ - it's complicated and overwhelming. So, to make things easier, you say, "Fuck it," and decide in a split second, the blink of eye and blindly flip a fucking coin. And then that's it - it's over and done and there's no going back. You have to live with that choice forever. Therein lies the root of my problems: snap decisions and misguided intentions. Because, really...good intentions, bad intentions, what's the fucking difference? _All_ of my intentions and decisions end with my gigantic foot in my mouth and a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. I should come with a fucking _warning_. So, _yes_, Mr. Hummel, I do have potential, but having it means nothing if you don't know how to use it. Maybe now he'll realize that guys like me can't change. I'm a clunker - a rusty old Chevy that's been in too many accidents and now rots in the junkyard, useless and hopeless, while hoards of feral cats piss all over it, marking their territory.

My stomach growls noisily. I find the clock on the wall and figure it's been about a half hour since Kurt and Mrs. Hummel disappeared. Hmm.. I can at least show the Hummel's how appreciative I am of their hospitality - if I can manage to not fuck that up too.

-xxxxxxxx-

Once in the kitchen, I set out in search for anything breakfasty. No sign of life just yet, so '_Operation Surprise Appreciation_' is in full effect. The results of my scavenger hunt reveal: eggs, pancake mix, bacon and _croissants_. I roll my eyes, _fucking croissants_. Sizing up the ingredients in front of me, I smile triumphantly -_ I can do this!_ I get right to work mixing the pancake batter, lining the _croissants_ in the oven and start on the bacon, cleaning up after myself as I go.

I fly through the pancakes quicker than anticipated, flip the bacon and start frying the eggs. Look at me, _Rachel fucking Ray!_

As I drop the last egg into the pan, I hear the faint sound of Mrs. Hummel's voice echoing off of the walls from somewhere down the hallway and I strain my ears to eavesdrop.

"This is what happens when you let someone like this into our house! When you let our son hang out with _criminals_."

"At least he has someone to hang out with!" Mr. Hummel declares. "I'd rather Kurt hang out with Finn than some trust fund kid from around here who only cares about getting a new Beemer every year. There's a whole world outside this Newport Beach bubble."

"You don't seem to mind living in this 'bubble'," Mrs. Hummel retorts, annoyed.

"I know there's something else out there, Carole. You remember when we met? I was struggling to keep the tire shop afloat and you swore you were destined to save lives as a nurse? Look at us now... people change."

There's a long pause and I swallow, tense. Mrs. Hummel clears her throat. "...I _can't_. I'm sorry. I don't want this kid in our house anymore." My stomach churns, suddenly upset.

"And where is he supposed to go?"

"He has a family, Burt. It's not up to you to decide whether or not they're good enough."

I snap back to life at the sound of footsteps heading in my direction. _Shit_. I fumble with the eggs, placing them onto a plate, grab the warm croissants from the oven and bus it to the table, scattering the food around the tower of pancakes in the center. Returning to the stove, I start removing the bacon from the pan just as Mrs. Hummel enters the kitchen and begins speaking, _formally_, as if she's addressing a crowd.

"Look Finn... I don't mean to play bad cop. It's nothing personal..." Her sentence trails off. "Is that _bacon_?"

I nod, keeping my focus on the bacon, afraid my eyes will give me away. "I usually make breakfast at my house," I mumble, void of all emotion. "My mom's not much of a cook so..." I turn, eyes trained on the floor and head towards the table.

She backtracks a little, feeling guilty upon seeing me make breakfast. "I'm sorry, you seem like a really nice kid..."

"It's ok," I interrupt, placing the bacon on the table. "I get it." I look her in the eyes, "You have a really nice family," I say honestly, breaking my facade. I take a deep breath and flick my eyes back to the floor, focusing on my feet as I wander out of the kitchen and towards the staircase, reluctantly.

-xxxxxxxxx-

His door is open but I knock anyway. After no response, I creep inside finding Kurt sleeping in bed - _he must be tired after his mom ripped him a new asshole_. I knock on the wall closer to his bed and he stirs. "Hey man."

He turns over, in a sleepy haze and fucking _princess_ waves at me. I purse my lips to suppress my amusement. "Hey, so... I gotta jet."

At this, he sits up straight, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Wait... What?" He fumbles with his covers, untangling himself and stands in front of me.

I look around his room - my eyes on anything _but_ his. His room is perfectly Kurt, artfully decorated and organized. No surprise there. "I gotta go back... try to figure some stuff out back home," I say, casting a quick glance his way.

He nods slowly, understanding. "Ok... well... cool... or not, but... you know what I mean."

I put my hand out, words fleeing my mind. _Fuck, this is hard._

Abruptly, he bypasses my hand, grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me into a hug. I stand there, shocked, before I surrender and return the hug, patting his back once.

Pulling away from me he says, with an air of desperation, "I'll come down to Chino. I'll visit you, and you can show me your world... your," he air quotes, "hood."

I look away again, avoiding his eyes, afraid the dam will spring a fucking leak, and nod. "Alright." I turn to leave, heading towards his door, wanting to run as fast and as far as fucking possible.

"Wait! Wait a second!" He yells, stopping me before I reach the door. He goes to his desk, shuffles around in his drawers finally pulling out a piece of paper. He finds a pen and scribbles on it before handing it to me. As I turn it around in my hands, big, bold letters catch my attention: "Map of New York City." I look up at him, curiously.

"Just in case you're ever in New York... and need a friend." He gestures towards the map with his hand. "I marked off the general area where I'll be."

Hoping to drown the emotions fighting to reach the surface, I swallow and slap him in the chest with the hand still clenched around the map.

"Ow!" He cries, grabbing his chest.

I laugh once, turning and waving the map before retreating out the door as fast as my giant legs will carry me. I allow myself one thought, before clearing my mind and marching onward. _I'm really gonna miss Fancy Pants_.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-

Before I know it, I'm back in the car with Mr. Hummel, reversing out of the driveway, my ratty backpack at my feet. I take one last look at the Hummel abode before we enter the street and I have to remind myself to breathe because I catch another glimpse of heaven. She's standing at the end of her driveway, just like the night we met, her straight brown hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She's wearing _another_ _short fucking skirt_ showing off those long, incredible legs and I mentally curse and praise the bastard that invented them. She grins as her big, hot chocolate eyes follow me and I briefly wonder if she knows why she woke up in the pool house this morning. We drive by so quick that I frantically turn around in my seat, watching her through the rear window. I take a mental picture, wanting to remember this tiny, beautiful, immensely talented girl for the_ rest of my life_. I keep my eyes trained on her shrinking figure until we turn the corner as the Douche mobile pulls up and she vanishes from my sight, forever.

-xxxxxx-

The sun breaks through the trees and warms my face as I stare out the passenger window, my short story ending the same way it began. I haven't said a word since we left Newport. What was there to say anyway? "I'm sorry I couldn't survive one damn weekend without fucking things up, but thanks for giving me a place to stay in the meantime"? Yeah fucking right.

The passing trees quicken in pace as we hit the highway, and my mind flashes back to that fateful day in Juvie:

_The guard guides me into the room and leads me to the nearest table. There's a man sitting there in a suit with a briefcase. I know immediately who he is...my lawyer, but I fucking hate that word, so I call 'em Suits. As the guard removes my cuffs, I analyze the man across from me. He's younger than any Suit I've had before, with brown curly hair and a chin that looks like a miniature version of my ass cheeks._

_The suit clears his throat. "Finn Hudson, I'm Will Shuester, the court has appointed me your Public Defender." I give him a good once over conveying my disapproval of the court's choice in PDs._

_"You could do worse," he says, catching on to my dismay. Ha. "You ok? They treating you alright?" He asks while perusing his paperwork._

_Since when do suits give a fuck about me? I'm nothing but a check to them. I cut the sweet talk and get right to the point. "So what happens now?"_

_"Well, I've reviewed your file," he pauses, eyeing me. He glances side to side before leaning in towards me. "Look kid, not only did you steal a Judge's car but you have a couple of priors... the odds are stacked against you." **Great, so I'm fucked. **He looks down at my file dragging his pen across the paper as he speaks. "You're grades.. are not great... suspended twice for fighting, three times for truancy..." His pen comes to a halt and his head snaps up at me. "Your test scores... 98th percentile on SAT I? Finn, if you start going to class... Are you thinking about college?"_

_I laugh and roll my eyes. Is ass-chin serious?_

_"Have you given any thought at all to your future?" I stay silent, gritting my teeth. He leans in again, "Dude, I'm on your side. Come on, help me out here."_

_I speak up, recalling that nerd magazine I read last week during free time, my voice firm and condescending. "Modern medicine is advancing to the point where the average human lifespan will be 100. But I read this article where social security is supposed to run out by the year 2025. Which means people are going to have to stay in their jobs until they're... 80. So, I don't want to commit to anything too soon." I smirk, satisfactorily._

_He laughs. "Ya know, you pissed off some pretty powerful people, Finn. I don't know if there's much I can do for you. I'll try to call in a few favors. But know this - stealing a judges car for kicks..." **(For fuck's sake, I didn't know whose it was ok?!**) "It's stupid and it's weak. And those are two things you can't afford to be anymore."_

_"Two more things," I add like a smartass._

_"Do you want to change that?" He retorts. **No, I'd like to spend the rest of my life rotting in jail, asshole - What do you think? Anyway, even if I wanted to change it, I can't. It's too late to turn back now.** He continues, unaware of my agitation. "Then you're gonna have to get over the fact that life dealt you a bad hand. I get it, I do. Despite what you may think, I was young and stupid once too." His tone gets suddenly serious. "A smart kid like you...you've got to have a plan...some kind of dream."_

_"Yeah, right," I say, dismissing his delusional advice. "Let me tell you something ok." I look him dead in the eyes. "Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. Knowing it won't come true... that does."_

_-xxxxx-_

_The Suit keeps true to his word and I'm released within the hour with a misdemeanor, petty fine and probation. I pace back and fourth outside the hell hole, willing time to pass quicker. I light a cig and sit on the curb, tired of standing. **Where the fuck is she!?**_

_More hours pass achingly and I decide to just fucking walk home. Throwing my backpack over one shoulder, I cut through the parking lot towards the street. I spot The Suit a short distance ahead of me, standing by the rear of an old, beat up Honda - the only non-luxury vehicle in the lot - deep in conversation with another suit. He opens the truck, drops in his briefcase and slams it closed, the ancient frame shuttering from the exertion._

_He spots me attempting to sneak past, **shit**. "Finn, what are you still doing here? You were released hours ago."_

_**Thank you Captain Obvious**. "My mom never showed," I spit, not stopping to chit chat, anticipating the long walk ahead of me._

_He turns and whispers something inaudible to Suit #2, who nods, before they both turn their attention to me. "Finn, there's someone I'd like you to meet," he declares, waving me over._

_I let out an aggravated sigh and change my direction towards them. I'm a free bird right now, so I kinda owe the guy._

_Shuester speaks first, gesturing from Suit #2 to me and then from me to him. "Burt, this is Finn Hudson. Finn, Burt Hummel." Mr. Hummel nods and offers his hand. I shake it awkwardly, hiking my backpack higher on my shoulder. "Burt is the Chief District Attorney here. You're lucky he wasn't on your case," Shuester says with amusement._

_"Oh shove it, Will, I'm not that bad. Nice to meet you, kid. Will's told me about you," he says, eyeing me knowingly. What the hell did The Suit tell him?_

_"Remember that favor I called in, Finn?" The Suit questions, placing his hand on Mr. Hummel's shoulder. "Burt plays poker with the Judge whose car you stole. He was able to convince him to reduce your sentence." I stand there, my eyes flicking between both Suits, unsure of how to act._

_Mr. Hummel shrugs. "Will's an old friend of mine," he says, justifying his behavior and ending the conversation He looks towards the street in the direction I was heading and then back to me. He raises an eyebrow, "Need a ride?"_

_I contemplate his question, weighing the pros and cons of such a situation. The pros prevail undoubtedly - **It's a long fucking walk**. I shug, nodding and follow him to his car._

-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-

Mr. Hummel turns onto my street and I shake my head, clearing it of the memories - what a fucking crazy 72 hours.

We pull up in front of my house and park in the street. What a fucking dump. The house looks the same since I left it- small and filthy, it's once white paint now a peeling dull grey. The lawn is wild, the tall weeds engulfing the barely visible walkway. I sigh. _Home sweet home._ I glance around the car, remembering the luxurious life this man now leads. He doesn't belong here.

I clear my dry throat. "So, thanks... for everything."

He nods in acknowledgement. "I'm gonna make sure everything works out, Finn."

_You've done enough for me already_. I smile in his direction, not showing any teeth and get out of the car. He follows, meeting me by the walkway, ready to walk me to the door.

"It's ok... I can take it from here," I say, throwing my backpack over my shoulder, keen to get rid of him in hopes of avoiding any further humiliation. God only knows what level of _drunk bitch _my mom is today.

He nods and leans against his car as I head towards the door, fishing for my keys. I don't look back.

I find them as I reach the door, unlocking it. Stepping inside, I freeze and drop my keys, becoming weak at the site before me. It's empty - _completely fucking empty. _**What the fuck!? No! No fucking way!** I drop my bag and run through the house, down the hallway, throwing each door open in desperation, becoming sicker with each empty room I encounter. I run back into the living room and into the kitchen, my hands in my hair, yanking on my scalp, using the pain to distract myself from crying. _SHE JUST LEFT!? HER ONLY FUCKING KID AND SHE JUST ABANDONED ME!? HOW COULD SHE DO THIS!?_ I take a deep breath attempting to calm my nerves and I spy something on the counter. It's a note, sprawled on a napkin, in what appears to be lipstick:

"_Dear Finn,  
I'm sorry. I just couldn't handle it anymore. Your stuff is in a bag in your room.  
Mom"_

I rip it off the counter in anger and crumple it up to nothing. _Fucking uncaring, selfish, drunk bitch!_ I hear movement behind me and turn to see Mr. Hummel in the doorway, his hand poised to knock, his eyes scanning the room and his jaw open in shock. He stays that way until his eyes meet mine and he swallows, placing his hands in his pockets.

After what feels like an eternity, he speaks. "Come on," he says, gesturing with his head towards the car. "Let's go."

On autopilot, I grab my bag and walk to the door, purposely leaving the rest of my shit - _I don't want a fucking thing that reminds me of her._ He places his hand on my shoulder as I brush past him, follows me out and slams the door behind him.

As we drive away from the place I once called home, my brain and body entirely numb, I find solace in one thought only: _Maybe I'll see Rachel again_.

-xxxxxxx-

**Thanks for attempting to fill the Finchel sized hole in your heart with OC! Hope it soothes the burn. :(**

**Sorry for the long wait, next one will be up soon. A lot happened in this chapter, I know. I hope the flashback wasn't confusing. **

**Fear not, Finchel fans. The next chapter will have plenty of Finchely goodness, promise :) As always, please review! :)**


	7. Chapter 7: The Refuge

Chapter 7: The Refuge

"So, since it's your last night in Newport, we should do something..._special_," Kurt declares, sitting all prim and proper next to me on the couch, his legs crossed. "We could.. go to the mall? There's a 'one day only' sale at Macy's," He adds suggestively, raising his eyebrows while his crossed right leg bounces happily in time to the background music of Hoarders.

I scrunch my face, more disgusted at the thought of voluntarily spending my last day at the mall than this weeks Hoarders crazy cat lady who pisses in old o.j. containers and piles them next to the only accessible piece of furniture in the house, which is, ironically, a _lazy boy_. "I think I just wanna take it easy tonight."

"Ok," he shrugs defeated. "I'm _sure_ the one of a kind Calvin Klein cashmere sweater I wanted will still be there tomorrow," he adds sarcastically, rolling his eyes and returning his attention to the t.v.

"Hoarders? Again?" Mr. Hummel questions, entering the room and standing next to the couch. "I never understood why the family waits so long to get them help. They could suffocate under all that crap and no one would ever find the body!" I laugh in agreement as he shakes his head, turning towards me. "Finn, Will stopped by my office today. I have some paperwork for you to sign."

I nod, standing just as Kurt gasps - the Hoarders cleaning crew having unearthed something unworldly underneath the couch - and follow Mr. Hummel into the kitchen.

Perched in the middle of the kitchen counter is a miniature version of a house similar to the Hummel's, complete with a fake yard and driveway. "What's this?" I ask no one in particular.

"It's a model home, I build them. Well, _real ones_." Mrs. Hummel answers, removing dinner from the oven and placing it on the stovetop to cool. _Aha_! So she _does_ bring home the cheddar. That explains the massive, intricate design of their house - she designed the fucking thing herself.

"Can you build me one?" I ask, jokingly.

She pauses, a knife in her hand, poised to slice bread and gapes at me. _Smooth move, asshole. _"Sorry.. Bad joke," I backpedal. She forces a smile and continues prepping dinner.

Mr. Hummel reappears with a stack of papers and he slides them towards me on the counter. "Feel free to look it over," he says, flipping the pages, "but I can summarize. These forms declare that you don't have a legal parent or guardian available." He stops flipping through the pages and looks up at me. "Which unfortunately means you'll be put into the system at Child Services and placed in foster homes until you're 18."

"So, I'm now property of the government," I deadpan, shaking my head and grabbing the pen, still in shock that my own flesh and blood would do such a _fucked up_ thing. "Legal name: 3287146."

"Hey, it's better than 'Fancy Pants'," Kurt intervenes with a hint of amusement as he grabs a drink from the fridge. _Fuck_, have I called him that _out loud_!?

Mr. Hummel continues, ignoring his son. "We'll meet with your social worker in the morning. She'll be the one to, " he swallows, "to take you to the group home. My contact at Child Services got you in with two other kids, which is good...because it can get crowded." He removes his baseball cap, rubs his bald head and replaces it.

I nod, in a daze, cold, hard reality bitch slapping me across the face. I suddenly feel nauseous. "Thanks," I exhale, hoping to settle my stomach, "I appreciate it."

He seems to sense my unease. "And you know, they _do_ find foster homes for kids your age."

I open my mouth to answer but Kurt interrupts, agitated. "Yes, because everybody wants a brand new _teenager_." He pauses, but not long enough for anyone to answer and continues, his voice increasing in volume. "I'm sorry to be the only one here who will state the obvious, but we have," he gestures wildly with his arms, "_all_ of this extra room, _particularly_ a pool house," he points in it's direction. "Yet you both want to ship him off to a group home like he's a thirty day trial for Bowflex and you're a fat, dissatisfied customer, regretting an impulse buy! This _SUCKS_!"

Grateful for his effort, but aware that it's futile, I speak up. "It's ok, Kurt. Really," I say, trying to placate him. My eyes flick back to the papers in front of me. Succumbing to my fate, I uncap the pen and scribble my name.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

After dinner, I say goodnight and go straight to bed, hoping tomorrow I'll wake up from this nightmare. The Sandman shits on my theory, however, and sleep evades me. I toss and turn, my mind whizzing with unsettling thoughts of social workers and foster homes. Flipping onto my back, I sit up abruptly, my mind crystal clear. I throw the covers off, getting dressed as I rush around the room gathering my shit and shoving it into my backpack. _I have to get out of here. _There's _no fucking way_ I'm going to some house to live with strangers and another parent who doesn't want me. _Fuck that_. I'd rather roll the dice and take a chance on my own_._ I tidy up, making the bed, trying to leave the place the same way I found it. Doing a quick once over, ensuring nothing is left behind or out of place and throw on my jacket and backpack and tiptoe out the door.

I run right into Kurt. _Shit_. "Finn, I was just coming to find you! There's an 'Extreme Cheapskates' marathon on tonight, you wouldn't _believe_ what some people will..." He pauses, soaking in my attire and furrowing his brows. "Are you..running away?"

"Go back in the house Kurt." I say in dismissal, closing the door and heading across the lawn towards the driveway.

"Hey!" He calls, following me. "You can't just _run away._ What are you thinking? What about Child Services.. or my dad?"

I keep walking.

"Ok, wait! I want to come with you."

I stop and face him, thinking it over for a second. "No." I start walking again.

"Where are you going?" He calls after me.

I stop again, annoyed. "I don't know! A new town, get a job somewhere, save some money."

"That's a great plan, Finn. Sounds like you've given it a lot of thought," he utters, his words dripping with sarcasm.

I clench my jaw. _What the fuck else can I do!?_ "You got a better idea!?"

He looks away, sighing defeated, before his eyes widen and he smirks. "Actually, I do."

-xxxxxxxxx-

I wait in the street with my backpack, shifting from foot to foot anxiously waiting for Kurt. He _insisted_ on changing and grabbing a few things. I take a drag of my cig. _What the hell is taking so long!? _

"Ok, I'll be there in 20. Bye." _Shit_, I'd know that sugary sweet voice anywhere. She's heading down her driveway towards a car parked in the street, cell in hand, looking gorgeous as usual in a dark blue dress and white sweater, her hair down in soft curls. As she gets closer I notice she's carrying a present. I take a quick moment to look to the sky and thank my lucky fucking star that I got to lay eyes on her one last time. Taking a deep breath, I fumble with my backpack, my leather jacket making a soft noise. She must have excellent hearing to match her voice because she stops when she reaches the street and looks up at me, surprised.

"Hey," I say, reluctant to be spotted, a present day fugitive.

"Heyy," she says, looking me up and down with those delicious eyes. "I didn't think I'd see you again." _Neither did I. _I look around, unsure of how to answer that. She takes a few steps towards me, stopping just within my reach. "Look, I wanted to say thanks...for the other night."

_She remembers._ "You always drink like that?" I ask, hoping like hell that she doesn't if nothing but for her own safety.

Her eyes wander and she fidgets with her purse. "I thought you left," she says, changing the subject.

"I did. I am..."

I hear footsteps behind me. "Whew," Kurt says approaching me and wiping his brow. "_Thank God_ for my supreme acting skills, my dad almost..." He notices Rachel. "Oh. Hi, Rachel."

"Hey Kurt." The air gets suddenly awkward and I finish my cig, flicking it. After a moment, she looks between us suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing! Just hanging out," Kurt blurts, a little too quickly, trying not to blow our cover. Grasping at straws and changing the subject he points to the present under her arm. "It's someone's birthday." I roll my eyes discreetly. _Yeah, Fancy Pants - supreme acting skills._

She nods, shaking the gift. "It's my friend Blaine's birthday."

Kurt tuts. "Blaine's birthday isn't until _Wednesday_."

Rachel squints her eyes and stares at him in confusion, the awkwardness level rising several notches.

"It's what I heard...I...I don't know, that was just a guess." Kurt backtracks, throwing his hands up in defense. _Yes, keep talking Kurt, you're doing great._

Rachel looks between us again and smirks, her eyes sparkling. "You guys are up to something."

Kurt turns to me, annoyed. "What did you tell her!?" he whispers through gritted teeth.

I peel my eyes off of Rachel to glance at Kurt, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't tell her anything." I gesture towards his outfit. "Maybe the _black turtle neck_ in _August_ tipped her off."

His mouth drops open in shock. "I was going for _stealth_. Plus, it's slimming. Anyway, we should really go." He starts walking. "Rachel, have fun at your party," he calls over his shoulder, unenthusiastically .

I smirk at her. "You should probably be off. Newport's social scene awaits," I say, casting the bait and raising my eyebrows challengingly.

She bites, placing her hands on her hips. "Oh yeah?"

-xxxxxxxxxxx-

Despite the fact that King Douche chauffeurs her perfect little ass everywhere, Rachel _does_ in fact have a car. It's tiny, just like her and it's "environmentally friendly" - a point she emphasized proudly. I shift uncomfortably in my seat - _I'm way too fucking big for this matchbox._

We stop at a red light and she glances at me in the passenger seat and then at Kurt in the back. "Why won't you tell me where we're going? This is pretty far away," she says with the most adorable fucking pout and I'd tell her in a heartbeat if I knew.

Kurt sighs dramatically and I'm grateful he's kept relatively quiet until now, only opening his mouth to bark directions at her. "I'm pretty sure no one invited you." _Clearly,_ Kurt's still pissed about the whole '_she un-friended him for her dick boyfriend' _thing.

Rachel takes his jab in stride. "Before _I_ came along, you were _walking_. And judging by the distance we've traveled thus far, you'd probably have gotten there sometime after Hanukkah." I bite my lip, fighting the urge to laugh. She has a point. _I'm_ sure as hell not complaining. Her position in the drivers seat causes her dress to hike higher on her thighs, giving me an excellent view of those goddamn never ending legs. The small space of her hybrid emphasizes her perfume and she smells better then I ever imagined - sweet and refreshing, like when the sun comes out just after it drizzles on a warm day in April. It's _intoxicating_.

Kurt lets out a puff of air in dissatisfaction but doesn't speak. We pass a few more blocks in silence before he suddenly springs forward, grabbing onto the back of my seat for leverage. "_Oh my Gaga!_" He yells in our ears, scaring the crap out of Rachel and I. "It's Barbara, turn it up!"

She giggles and obliges, happily singing along with Kurt, the music seeming to ease the tension for now, _thankfully_. Her voice seeps into my body breathing new life into my soul causing my heart to pound against my ribcage, stronger and more alive than ever. _Damn it _- there I go again, _feeling things_. _Fuck_, if this is how my body reacts to her _singing_.. Imagine what would happen if we kissed.. Or... I swallow, pushing those erotic thoughts to the back of my mind, attempting to keep my composure while the object of my dirty fantasies sits an arms length away from me.

We make a quick pit stop to grab some food for later and Rachel changes the cd. I sigh in relief when the first song that blares through the speakers is a familiar rock song. I nod my head and tap my fingers to the beat as I look out the window.

"Do you like this music?" Rachel asks grinning, looking between me and the road, perceptive of my sudden interest in her music selection.

I glance at her and can't help but smile back, it's fucking contagious. "Yeah, I guess," I say, nonchalantly. Her grin widens and she bites her bottom lip and I'm suddenly mesmerized by her mouth.

I stare at it as she licks her lips, forming words. "Well, what _do_ you like?"

"_Everything_," I reply in a daze, referring to _her_ more than the music.

Kurt takes this moment to remind us that we're not alone. "That's it, right there," he interrupts, reaching between us to point at a house on its own road to the right. It's in the middle of a dirt lot - huge, dark and isolated.

"What is this place? It's looks scary," she says, pulling onto the bumpy, unpaved driveway, and putting the car in park.

"Then you can stay in the car," Kurt snaps, getting out and running towards the front door. Sighing, I follow. _They need to chick flick and make up already, this animosity shit is starting to get on my nerves._ I turn back towards the car and stop to wait for Rachel. She rushes to catch up to me in her ridiculously high heels, which are not meant for off-roading, and trips, stumbling forward. Before she can hit the ground, I'm at her side, my hands on her hips, steadying her.

"Are you ok?" I ask, breathing her in, aware that our close proximity is causing a rapid increase in my breathing and heart rates and a sudden tingling of the skin that's still touching her. I feel like I just ran a fucking mile - this girl is a _drug_.

After a moment, she blinks and clears her throat, composing herself. "Y-Yes. Yes, I'm alright. Thank you," she whispers, fixing her hair and looking down at her side, where my huge hands are gripping her waist.

Positive that she's steady, I whip my hands away. "Inside," I blurt out. "We should go inside." I nod, reaffirming my suggestion and letting her walk in front of me in case she loses her balance again. I swallow, keen to forget the sparks that flew silently between us when we touched. She's _taken_. And I'm a fucking _fugitive_.

We head through the already open door, looking for Kurt. He steps out of the dark in front of us and hands me a flashlight, turning his on. _Of course_ he's prepared.

"Do you recognize this place Finn?" He asks, his voice echoing off the walls as he roams around with his flashlight.

I flick my flashlight on and survey the room. It's elaborate, with marble floors, vaulted ceilings and a grand staircase...but it's unfinished. There's tarps hanging in the doorways and a scaffolding sits in the center of the room, unused. "This isn't..."

"Where are we?" Rachel asks Kurt, stepping into the foyer and interrupting me.

"It's one of my mom's housing developments - her and my grandpa own a bunch of them. This is supposed to be the model home but it never got finished."

"Why not?" Rachel asks, curiously, eyeing the ceiling with her head tilted back.

"I... don't know," Kurt shrugs, lifting the closest tarp and disappearing behind it. "Come on," he yells.

I follow, holding the tarp up and gesturing for Rachel to pass before me. "After you." She smiles, looking up at me as she walks under my arms. And yeah, I _was_ trying to be a gentleman - the awesome view of her rack was just a bonus. Her height plus my height equals a constant birds eye view of her Robbins eggs if I'm close enough. Being a fucking skyscraper _does_ have its advantages.

The next room we enter seems to be the living room, with big glass doors covered in packaging paper and a fireplace on the far left wall.

Rachel turns to face Kurt again. "So, you want him to stay here?"

"Well, I know the place needs some sprucing up but.. Finn what do you think?"

"I haven't really had time to think," I answer, the decision scale in my mind tipping back and forth unevenly. _What the fuck am I doing? Is this really a good idea? _

Kurt smirks, smug as fuck. "Well, how much better is this place than some group home?"

I scan the room with my flashlight, my eyes landing on Rachel and nod. "They're _incomparable_."

-xxxxxx-

**Will Finn decide to stay? **

**As always, thanks for reading and please review! :)**


	8. Chapter 8: The Mistake

Chapter 8: The Mistake

In the end, all it took was three simple words uttered by the luscious lips of Rachel Berry for me to come to a decision:

"You should stay."

And so I did.

-xxxxxxxx-

I spend the following morning roaming around the model home property, bored and cranky as fuck from a shitty night of sleeping on the cold, hard, marble floor. Kurt, who was kind enough to pack me a bag of "necessities", managed to pack every fucking skin care product he owns, but neglected anything remotely related to bedding. _Fucking Fancy Pants._ God forbid I go one day without my face smelling like I just bobbed for apples in the perfume department at Macy's. At least his priorities are in order.

I decide to pass the time doing pull ups off of the scaffolding and crunches by the pool like a badass motherfucker during a training montage in some action movie, but still bored out of my fucking mind. Kurt and Rachel show up some time around noon, _together_, with a shit load of supplies ranging from a tent to toilet paper and everything in between. Relief floods through me as I watch them interact like old friends. Maybe I am helping them after all.

_Bossy_ Pants _insists_ this place needs "a special touch". He parades around the room, directing the placement of _everything_ and unnecessarily decorating as he pleases. Behind his back, I roll my eyes in utter annoyance - _is this shit really necessary?_ It looks like Martha fucking Stewart barfed her brains out in here. Who knows how long I'll even be staying here. With my luck, my fugitive ass will be back where it belongs - in the back of a squad car and all will be right in the world once again.

After _Bossy_ Pants adjusts and _re-adjusts_ the arrangement of his candles, ensuring I'll have "the most illuminating, enchanting lighting" - _cause ya know, that's what's important_ - he ventures back outside to get the remainder of supplies from the car. When he's beyond the tarp-door, I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief from inside the tent, glad to be free of the HGTV tyrant for a moment. Rachel giggles.

"It's almost over." She smiles and shakes her head at Kurt's antics before cocking her head to the side in thought. "You have to admit, it does look great." Glancing at the door, she makes her way towards me and I stiffen in anticipation. She crouches in the mouth of the tent, her face inches from mine as her intoxicating scent permeates the small space between us. _Does she always smell this delicious? _She's wearing another pair of ridiculously short shorts and her skin looks deliciously inviting. I swallow, suddenly hyperaware of the temperature of the room and shake my collar a little in an attempt to circulate some air around my body. "I made this for you," she whispers, grinning shyly at the ground and handing me a CD. I hadn't even realized she was carrying anything."It has a little bit of everything." She even designed a cover for it - with a big gold star and the words, 'Rachel Berry's Model Home Mix'. She gestures with her thumb towards something behind her. "You can borrow my CD player," she utters, dragging her eyes up to mine. "I.. I thought it could keep you company."

"Thanks," I manage to say, astonished by her thoughtfulness and lost in the chocolate swimming pools of her big brown eyes. The huff and puff of Kurt outside the door snaps me into focus and I quickly tuck the CD under my pillow for later. Rachel stands and rushes to help Kurt unload the last armful of crap. The spark in the air between us, once vibrant, fizzes and dies, tightly grasped and smothered to death by reality.

-xxxxx-

Once Kurt is satisfied with the outcome of the room, we venture to the boardwalk in search of the one thing both Rachel and Kurt forgot to bring: _food_.

I'm browsing the menu of Rachel's favorite diner as the bell over the door chimes and the noise level suddenly increases, steering our attention towards the entrance. I sink lower in my seat as a bunch of fucking jock pricks I recognize from the party saunter in, loud and obnoxious like they own the joint. Bringing up the rear is none other than my favorite person ever: King Douchewad. _Of-fucking-course._

They settle into a booth a few tables away, oblivious of our presence and barking drink orders at the waitress across the room. I put the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head in an attempt to remain unseen. _Yeah, because it's so easy for a fucking skyscraper to blend into the background._ I'd love nothing more than to give Jesse a little taste of _Chino's_ welcoming committee, but I remember I'm on _probation_ and currently attempting to _evade the law_.

Rachel grabs my arm from across the table. "It's just the water polo team. I'll take care of them," she declares looking between Kurt and I, gathering her things. "You guys sneak out the back." Without skipping a beat, she plasters a smile on her face and marches up to their table, greeting Jesse with a kiss and sliding into their booth across from him, already deep in conversation.

Kurt and I slip towards the back exit in total fucking stealth mode. We are a few feet from tasting freedom when the waitress steps out of the kitchen.

"Hey! That's an emergency exit - use the front door only," she reprimands, pointing towards the front of the restaurant and mumbling under her breath about entitled spoiled rich kids. _Shit_. I pull my hood further over my eyes, hoping Rachel can distract the pricks long enough for us to slip past them, unnoticed.

Kurt, however, has other plans. In a rush to reach the door, he walks right in the path of the bus boy, slamming into him and overturning a tray full of dirty dishes. It clatters to the floor with a loud bang, causing a commotion and accumulating unwanted attention. I cringe. So much for _unnoticed_.

"Well, well, well... Guess all those years in a tutu couldn't help your clumsiness, huh _Sparkles_?" Jesse remarks, standing from the booth and getting in Kurt's face. "Always gotta be the center of attention, don't ya?"

Kurt stands unmoving - shocked and embarrassed. What a fucking dick. Who the fuck does Jesse think he is, speaking to Kurt that way!? "Hey!" I spit, annoyed and stepping between the two, forcing Jesse to take a step back.

"Chino." His lips turn into that stupid slimy grin and I want to rip it off his fucking face. "A little far from '8 Mile' aren't we?" He rips my hood off of my head aggressively.

"Jesse, don't," Rachel pleads from behind him, trying to diffuse the rapidly spiraling situation. He ignores her.

I throw my head back, laughing, amused. _8 Mile? _How fucking hilarious. "You know what I like about rich kids?" I challenge, taking a step towards him, threateningly. _Fuck_ probation, this dick deserves what's coming to him. I glance at Kurt, who's still frozen in place, before throwing all of my might into my fist making contact with Douche's face. I take him off guard and knock him back onto the table in another loud clatter. "Nothing!" I yell over all of the noise.

A rush of adrenaline hits me and I sprint towards the door, yelling over my shoulder at Kurt, who is doubled over in laughter, "Come on!"

_Ut oh. I just drop kicked a fucking hornet's nest._

-xxxxx-

"What were you thinking, Finn!?"

I'm back at the model home surrounded by lit candles and listening to the mix Rachel made me when she storms through the door, enraged.

"The owner called the cops! And I was there when the waitress described you _in detail _to them. They're probably looking for you! What if Jesse decides to press charges?"

"I'm sorry," I reply ashamed as she paces around the room. I study the floor to avoid her eyes. "It was stupid, I know." She stops and crosses her arms, huffing in response. A moment of tense silence passes.

I take a deep breath, gaining the courage to look up at her. "I have to leave, Rachel. I can't stay here and risk getting caught. I won't go back to jail. And I don't want to be another unwanted foster bitch." Another deep breath. "Kurt's getting me a bus ticket. I leave tomorrow morning."

After a minute she nods, reluctant but understanding and takes a few steps towards me. Our eyes lock. "This song reminds me of you."

I simply stare at her, my eyes questioning her sudden change of subject. It's one of a few I recognize on the cd she made for me: Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah'. It's a beautiful song. "I thought you were with Jesse?"

"I was... I just- I wanted to see you... I was worried. And now...you're leaving tomorrow and what if I never... We never..." She's rambling and fidgeting nervously and it's fucking adorable. "Maybe... I can spend the night..? Just hang out?"

My eyes grow wider and I swallow as a thousand different emotions race through my mind: Shock from the unexpected question; Apprehension thanks to Jesse; Excitement, because, well, _duh_; and lastly: Hope, because there's definitely something between us... and she feels it too.

I take a long minute to think about her inquiry before speaking softly. "You can't stay. If you stay... If you spend the night..." I swallow again, drowning the tide of emotions fighting its way to the surface. "I don't know that I can leave."

Her eyes search mine as she takes a step closer. "Then don't," she pleads, desperately.

"Yeah, and you go back to school in the fall and I'll just..what? Hang around here? Hiding like some ghost? What if the cops find me and I have to run again?" My breathing becomes heavier and I struggle to keep my composure, stepping close enough to touch her. "We're from different worlds, Rachel."

Her eyes water but she fights the tears and sighs. "That's not true."

I vaguely feel my heart pounding against my chest and it's not in a good, excited way. It's in a 'this is fucking killing me' kind of way.

"I'm not like you..." I pause as I feel my resolve slipping away from me and I realize what I have to do. "Go," I say. "Please." She stares straight through me and into my soul and I feel my heart crack as her expression falters. This sweet, beautiful girl does not belong in my _fucked up black hole of a life_. "Go!" I yell and she jumps, startled. I quickly turn away from her and squint my eyes shut as the tears stream down her cheeks, not able to bear the image of her crying that's now burned into my retinas.

The only sound I hear is her footsteps as she runs through the house and out the front door.

_Oh God. What have I done?_

I growl in frustration at myself and sprint through the house hoping to catch her. I make it outside just as the red glow of her taillights disappear around the corner.

-xxxxx-

About ten minutes later, I hear movement downstairs and yell in that direction. "I'm up here, Kurt!" The tarp rustles behind me and I turn towards- _Jesse_!? He shocks the _shit_ out of me, strolling into the room, flagged by two of his merry fucking men. _What is he doing here? How did he know I was here? _He's already sporting a nice shiner on his right eye. He barks at me before I have the chance to question his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing here, man!? What were you doing with my _girlfriend_!?"

_How did he know Rachel was here? What the fuck is going on!? Where is Kurt?_ I swallow, taking in his angry appearance and it occurs to me why he's here: _retribution_. I look him dead in the eyes and stand my ground. "Nothing."

"It didn't look like '_nothing_'," Jesse sneers, tossing his head back and forth and removing his jacket. _What did he see, exactly? Did he follow her here? Is that how he knows? _He approaches me alone and I'm confident I have a fighting chance until the goddamn _synchronized swimmers_ jump in and all three tag team me from every angle, relentlessly punching and kicking. They throw me against the wall and around the room, trashing everything and knocking over the candles, carelessly. I fight back until I can't anymore, the last blow to my head causing my axis to tilt and vision to blur into a sea of red and orange before everything goes black and I collapse to the floor, unconscious.

When I fade back into reality, blinking and disoriented, the smell of smoke and dirt clouds my senses. What _happened_ and how the hell did I get outside? I drag my hands along the dirt and closer to my throbbing, battered body in an attempt to get better leverage and lift myself up when I hear it - the dreadful blare of incoming sirens.

**_Fuck_**.

-xxxx-

_**Sorry for the long wait. Thanks for reading! Please review :) **_


	9. Chapter 9: The Bulwark

**A/N: **It took me longer than anticipated to get this chapter up, sorry!

That being said,** I'll give you a brief run-through of the last two chapters.**

In an effort to avoid being placed into child services, Finn decides to run away from the Hummels. Kurt catches him, and convinces him to stay at one of his mom's unfinished model homes. They run into Rachel, who gives them a ride and helps them make the place livable. Needing sustenance they go to the diner on the boardwalk and see Jesse and his band of jocks. Finn & Kurt try to slip out the back as Rachel distracts Jesse to no such luck. Defending Kurt, Finn punches Jesse in the face and flees back to the model home. Later that night, Rachel shows up, asking if she can spend the night to get to know him. Knowing he violated his probation and must leave before the cops find him, he says no and yells at her to leave. She runs away crying and Jesse shows up with his jocks and beats the life out of him, knocking over candles and starting a fire. Finn wakes up outside of the burning house as he hears the wail of approaching sirens.** Whew, that was a mouthful. Now that you're all up to speed.. Here's chapter 9. Enjoy! and please REVIEW! :)**

**P.S. If you don't know what bulwark means, look it up. ;)**

**Chapter 9: The Bulwark**

I'd like to say I decided to be a _man_ that night and faced the fire (in every sense) with my head held high. I mean, I lit the damn candles, right? _I burnt the house to a fucking crisp_. If I hadn't been staying there, Mrs. Hummel's model home would still be standing, period. But I couldn't - I ran. I ran as fast and far as my beaten body would carry me, putting as much distance between me and that fire as possible. There was no way in hell I was going back to jail._  
_  
_Pretty ironic, isn't it dumbass? Nothing ever goes the way you plan, does it?_ _Why do you bother?_

Despite my feeble attempts at running from my old friend, _Johnny 5-0_ the night of the fire, I got caught. _What a surprise._ Yup, violating probation and _arson_ are serious charges.

Will "The Suit" Shuester comes to see me my second day behind bars and informs me that Mrs. Hummel's company decided to drop the arson charges and that after the probation hearing – which takes 30-60 days – I can leave.

"_Burt and I did whatever we could to get you out of here sooner, Finn. But… without a guardian to release you to, they won't budge."_

It was nice of him to try and all and even kinder for Mr. Hummel to help – I sure as hell don't deserve it. Even my mom thinks I'm a hopeless, useless cause. _Go figure._

I let out a frustrated groan, throwing my lunch tray onto the table and attempt to settle my gigantic ass at the "_kids table_". Seriously, these tables are fucking tiny, it's a joke. I feel like the freakin' Stay Puft marshmallow man trying to wedge himself down the streets of New York City in _Ghostbusters_. It reminds me of how I had to fold myself into Rachel's match box sized car. _Damn it._ I clench my jaw immediately, pissed off that once again my mind roamed back to _**her**_.

The gut-wrenching image of Rachel with tears streaming down her precious face is still burned into my retinas, forever reminding me what a _colossal jackass_ I am. Not that I need a reminder of that night - it replays in my mind on an endless loop at all hours of the day, taunting me. Truth be told, I didn't have to yell at her. It's just… With each word she spoke, I felt what's left of the wall around my heart caving in while every beat of my heart _drummed her name_. I knew then and there that I'd never be able to leave Newport…leave _her_, if I left her stay the night. So I did what I do best (besides being a master fuck up, of course) – I haphazardly rebuild that damn wall and shut her out.

I swirl my fork around what's _supposed_ to be "beef stew" as my mind clouds with a mixture of Rachel and the Stay Puft marshmallow man and I wonder if that's what Rachel and I would look like if we were together. I lose my appetite.

I decide to sit here as long as possible anyway though, shifting my food around the tray to look busy. I've found the cafeteria to be a bit of a safe haven. At least in here the guards aren't able to turn a blind eye. That theory goes down the drain pretty damn quick though when the "_Pitbull wannabe_" dick I've been evading takes a seat across from me, a wicked smirk on his lips.

"You haven't been avoiding me, have you, _Princess_?"

Keeping my eyes focused on the slosh in front of me, I ignore him until he growls. "_Look at me!_"

Sensing the threat in his voice, I drop my fork and slowly drag my eyes up to his ugly fucking face. He really _does_ look like Pitbull (the rapper, not the dog – although he does resemble both), except a younger, grimy, sleazier version. _The guy is total fucking trash. _Not to mention he's an absolute flake. Rumor has it the tool tried to go all _Shawshank_ and escape via the laundry chute - he was stuck in there for days. Anyway, his skin is littered with grotesque tattoos and his teeth are mangled and dirty, with several silver caps in places where teeth should be. I'm almost positive he's never used a tooth brush in his life because when he suddenly grabs me by the jumpsuit and yanks me across the table, pinning me down on it, he sticks his face inches from mine, practically drooling on me and invading my air with his nasty, foul smelling breath. In utter disgust, I hold mine until a sudden, sharp pain in my neck forces me to exhale. I feel a warm dripping sensation on my neck as blood cascades down it and it occurs to me that the dick is actually stabbing me with the fork I just had swimming in the mystery meal. _Fucking gross._

"You can't hide forever, Hudson. I've got **plans** for you," he threatens before the guards swarm, separating us and dragging him off of me and out of the cafeteria towards confinement.

On reflex I lift my hand up to my neck to wipe away the blood.

I shutter wondering what exactly Pitbull means by, "_plans_".

**-xxxxxxxxxxx-**

I'm buzzed into three different rooms before I'm escorted into the visitation room and a guard removes my handcuffs. I spot him sitting at a table in the middle of the room, sticking out like a flashing neon "_O-P-E-N_" sign, fidgeting and glancing around nervously. He visibly relaxes as I take a seat across from him.

There's so much I want to say to him, to ask him: _How is Rachel? What happened with the model home? Are your parents angry?_ But I don't. "What are you doing here, Kurt?"

"How are you, Finn?" He asks, ignoring my question and soaking in my appearance with worried eyes. "You look like you haven't slept in days." He glances below my face and his eyes widen. "What happened to your neck?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," I retort quickly, whipping my hand up to cover the cuts and bruise. _I'd rather Kurt not know that Pitbull was kind enough to demonstrate that there's more than one use for a fork during meals._ I glance away from him, afraid to look him in the eyes and inwardly cringe when I notice who's sitting at the table next to us, eyeing me like a fresh, juicy, meaty bone. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._

Kurt's eyes flick away from my neck and over towards Pitbull before they flick right back up to my face, concerned. "I know it's only been a couple of days and I'm sorry I didn't come visit you sooner. I've kind of been on house arrest. Mom and Dad were pretty pissed about the model home..." He pauses. "I'm sorry the plan didn't work out." I shake my head as he continues. "My Dad has tried to help in whatever way he can but they can't release you without a guardian so..." He lowers his head and adds, "I'm sorry, Finn."

I shake my head again, deterring his apologizes. There's no reason for _him_ to be sorry. _I did this to myself._

He looks me in the eyes again, cocking his head to the side. "We've all been worried about you. We wanted to come check –"

"We?" I interrupt, feeling the slight flutter of curiosity in my stomach.

"Yeah, my Mom and I."

_Fuck, Mrs. Hummel is here?_ Its bad enough Kurt risked his damn life coming here but Mrs. Hummel? _Women don't belong in a place like this, ever._ Caged men are a desperate, vile breed, regardless of their age.

Perfectly on cue, Mrs. Hummel is buzzed into the visitation room. She makes her way over to our table, standing behind Kurt with her arms crossed, looking clearly uncomfortable. We make eye contact before I look away, ashamed.

I hear him whistle before he aims his nasty mouth at Kurt's mother. "Hey, what's the matter, sweetheart? Give me a smile," Pitbull taunts from the table next to us.

I close my eyes and clench my jaw gathering every ounce of self restraint to keep my mouth shut and stay seated. I definitely don't want to make a scene in front of the woman whose million dollar house I burnt to the ground after she welcomed me into her home.

Seeing me tense up, Kurt changes the subject. "So, Rachel seemed pretty weird when I tried to talk to her about you. What happened between you guys?"

So Kurt and Rachel are talking again? That's great. I guess my time in Newport wasn't a _total_ disaster, after all. Before I can respond, the peanut gallery opens his filthy fucking _I-don't-know-what-a-toothbrush-is_ mouth again. "You've got some _fine_ curves on you lady. Mmm, mmm, mmm."

"Hey! Leave her alone," I snap in his direction. _You don't talk to women like that, you fucking prick_.

Mrs. Hummel tries to defuse the rapidly spiraling situation. "It's _ok_, Finn," she placates, keeping her focus on Kurt and I.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stand and saunter towards us. "Is she your little hunny, _Princess_?"

"_Leave her alone_," I threaten, with more force this time, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists under the table.

He ignores me. "Come here, bitch. I want to get a good look at you."

Unable to keep my cool anymore, _I fucking lose it_. I'm up from my seat and lunging at him before he realizes what's coming. With all of my might, I drag him across the room and shove him up against the brick wall, making sure to shove my arm hard into his throat to keep him there. "_Watch your fucking mouth_," I spit in his face, satisfied he's finally getting what he deserves.

He doesn't take kindly to being told what to do, apparently, because he wails me in the head with a right hook so hard that it disorients me for a second and sends me to the ground. Before I know it, he's straddling me and using my face as his personal punching bag, emphasizing each punch with the words, "_I'm going to fucking kill you!_"

Well, at least now I know what he meant by "_plans_".

In a distant part of my consciousness, I hear the shrill, panicked screams of Kurt and Mrs. Hummel, begging for the guards.

**-xxxxxxxxxxxx-**

Mrs. Hummel, it turns out, is just like her husband. After what went down in the visitation room, she couldn't "in good conscience" leave me in a place where my life is being threatened. So, she signed the legal forms and the jail released me into her custody – for now.

Unlike Mr. Hummel, though, Kurt's mom did so without consulting her husband. He was pretty damn shocked when he came home from court and found me sitting in the living room on the couch next to his son.

The Hummels insisted that my stay here is only temporary until they find my mother, though. I don't care if it's just for a day – all that mattered was that I was out of Juvie and could finally get a good night's rest. Mr. Hummel hired a private investigator to search for my mom so it was only a matter of time until dear old _Mrs. Hudson_ came out of hiding. Not that I expected her to jump for joy and welcome me with open arms – the woman packed up her shit and left me for dead. I doubt she wants me to be found, least of all by me.

The rest of the week blew by and before I knew it, it was the weekend again. Not wanting to allow me any spare time to get into trouble, Mrs. Hummel put me to work setting up for the next big charity event: _Casino night._

I assure you, it's not as fun as it may sound. I spent the afternoon up to my elbows in poker chips, carrying tables and flower arrangements, following orders from the same damn cougars that ogled me at the Talent Show. I was actually pretty flattered at first, until the _fiftieth time_ one of them purposely dropped something and asked me to pick it up so she could check out my ass.

The bad news was Mrs. Hummel hadn't realized Jesse the King Douche would be there. Apparently, he wanted to "lend a helping hand to make amends for the fire incident." He had admitted to the cops he was present at the time the fire started and had agreed with my story that the fire was an accident. With no prior record and his parents to pick him up, they let the douche go with a slap on the wrist, while I rotted in jail wondering when I'd be shanked with the toothbrush Pitbull never actually used as a toothbrush.

To make matters worse, ever the humanitarian, Rachel showed up to help also.

She tried to talk to Jesse as the both of us were carrying a big table across the room, seemingly unaware that I was holding up the other end.

"Hey, can we talk?" She asked him.

"Which one of us did you want to talk to?" He snapped back, nodding towards me as we set the table down before stalking away from us.

"Jesse, come on," she called after him with a sigh. _I guess they haven't spoken since the night of the fire. I wonder why?_

She shuffles over to registration table and I follow her, unsure of what I plan on saying, but knowing I need to say _something_, and discreetly checking out _her_ ass in those damn man-eating- shorts.

I open my mouth and spit out the first thing that comes to mind, afraid I'll lose my courage. "I'm sorry… I feel like ever since I got here, I've screwed everything up."

She looks up at me with those chocolate doe-y eyes and shakes her head, her bangs flitting across her forehead. "No, _I'm_ sorry. It's my fault too. I never should have left Jesse to see you that night. And those things you said before…"

"I didn't…it wasn't…" I mumble, trying and failing to explain that I _didn't_ mean what I said that night.

"You were right," she interrupts, squaring her shoulders and staring me straight in the eyes. "We're from two different worlds." She takes a deep breath. "I'm glad you're ok," she adds softly, before briskly walking away.

I sigh, defeated and return to setting up tables.

**-xxxxxxxxxxx-**

I'm beyond relieved when we finally pull in the driveway of the Hummel mansion and I'm finally free of Kurt's designer suit babble bullshit. _Who the fuck cares what designer he's wearing tonight?_ A suit is a suit, period. All of his fashion talk gives me a major headache. Thinking about what the night has to hold for me, I decide I need a nap before this damn charity event.

Kurt is still rambling about the "off black" color of his suit when we enter the house and he freezes, mid step and mid sentence, his silence finally catching my attention.

I follow his line of sight to a woman sitting on the couch across from Mr. Hummel and my stomach churns as she turns to face us.

"Mom."

**I had to end it there to leave you wanting more, duh! I promise the next chapter will be up sooner rather than later. I also want to try writing another story so we'll see how well I can multi-fic. Hope it was worth the wait. Please review! :)**


	10. Chapter 10: The Gamble

**AN: Hi, yes this fic is still alive, I promise! Sorry it's taken so long. I've had this written for what feels like a month now and just haven't gotten around to finishing it.**

**Also, it is late, and I am tired. I wanted to re-read it again but it's just not going to happen, so, please forgive any errors. Thanks for reading :)**

Chapter 10: The Gamble

When Mr. Hummel told me he hired a private investigator to find my mother, I knew it was only a matter of time until _mommy dearest _poked her head out of her groundhog's hole - the bitch couldn't hide forever. And though I knew deep down that seeing _my_ shadow would send her right back into hiding - intent on six more weeks of "no-children" season - there was still a small part of me that hoped otherwise.

Not that I was in a rush to see her or anything. I was as interested in seeing my mom as Kurt would be interested in seeing me in a pair of _OshKosh B'gosh _overalls on "_Marc Jacobs _Monday". I just didn't expect it to happen so _soon_. I hadn't even come to terms with the whole _she-packed-all-of-our-shit-and-left-me-for-dead-wi th-nothing-but-a-napkin-note-written-in-lipstick-s aying-she's-sorry_ situation. Yeah, _Mom of the Freakin Year_ award. All I knew was, I was _fucking angry_ and I sure as hell was not willing to face her just yet.

So, there I was, standing in the Hummel foyer when Mrs. Hudson herself turns from her perch on the living room couch and stands, with a big, fake smile on her make-up covered face like she's actually _happy to see me_. Her shaking hands catch my attention and I realize she's clutching a brand new SF Giants cap like her life depends on it and it dawns on me what the bitch is up to. Stone faced and willing myself to remain void of all emotion, I turned and stalked straight towards the pool house without a word.

Safely in my sanctuary, I face dive onto the bed with a groan. _What the fuck did she expect_ - _A happy dance and a fucking bear hug?_ Hell no. I'm not five years old anymore. I'm not gonna "forget" she decided to throw away her own kid like a used, dirty Kleenex when she shoves a shiny toy and an ice cream cone in my face - or in this case, a baseball cap. _Not fucking happening this time_.

Attempting to de-stress and de-headache myself, I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes, willing the tears forming there to _back the fuck off_. I refuse to shed another tear on her behalf.

I'm not sure how long I lay there, wondering when my life became _Telenovela_: "_La Vida Tràgica de Finn"_, before my thoughts drift towards Rachel and sleep finally overtakes me.

**-xxxxxxx-**

I'm rudely awoken from my slumber by a loud knock on the pool house door.

"GoawayKurt!" I mumble in the direction of the door. "I'm yoga-ing."

"I believe the word you're looking for is _meditating_, Finn."

_What the..?_

I'm out of bed and lunging towards the door before I even realize I'm awake. "R- Rachel?"

She looks up at me through her ridiculously long lashes. "Can I come in?"

Confirming that she's here alone, I glance behind her and step aside, giving her just enough space to enter but having to brush her chest against mine as she passes. I'm smirking at my brief stroke of genius when I remember I just woke up and probably look like I did that time in kindergarten when I spent the entire day rubbing balloons on my head and pretending I'm "Beaker" from _Sesame Street.._. _I look like a fucking mess._

_Shit._ I'm fussing with my hair and smoothing the wrinkles out of my t-shirt when she turns to face me and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights, looking like a total fucking idiot. In an effort to distract her from my momentary lapse in bad-assness, I send her my million-dollar half smile and like a total stud, slowly run my hand through my sleep-tousled hair.

It works like a charm. _Cha-ching_. She smirks, brushing her hair behind her ear and glancing down at the floor, shyly. Not one to miss an opportunity to ransack her sweet bod with my eyes, I admire her tits, masterfully fit in her tight pink tank top, my gaze dropping down to where the hem of her short jean skirt lands on her shiny, bronze thighs. I shift uncomfortably as the fruit of my loom stirs, suddenly wide awake also.

"Wh-" I start before clearing my throat and trying again. _Why the hell am I so nervous?_ "What are you doing here, Rachel?"

When her eyes find mine again, I'm taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor. Her eyes seem almost... _predatory_. _My_ eyes bulge out of their sockets when she begins to advance towards me, licking her lips like she hasn't eaten for days and I'm a slice of fucking tofu she wants to fry up in olive oil. Reflexively, I step back and away from her, abruptly terrified of this tiny, scary-eyed woman. _What the fuck is going on?_ She saunters towards me, forcing me blindly backwards until my legs hit the bed and I run out of room. She corners me there with a wicked smirk. I swallow.

"I heard about your mom, Finn," Rachel says softly, placing her hand on my chest and lowering me down to sit on the bed. _What? How the hell did she know my mom is in Newport?_ Beneath her hand, my heart races erratically, trying to pummel its way out of my chest as her other hand runs a finger down my stomach and along the waistband of my jeans, _taunting me._ She smiles, feeling me flinch and reveling in the power she has over me. I'm fucking putty in her hands – she can do whatever the hell she wants with me right now - and she knows it. _**Please**_ _do whatever you want with me, Rachel._

"I came to see if you needed some comforting," she continues with her finger still hooked into my jeans, pushing her lips into the sexiest fucking pout I've ever seen. Rachel's eyes wander down my chest and in a split second she grabs the hem of my t-shirt and rips it over my head and off of my body. Warning bells ring deep in the back of my mind, questioning who this strange woman is and what the hell she's doing until they're overshadowed by the growing lust in my pants. _Yes! Yes, I need to be comforted. Comfort me, Rachel._

She gains my full attention then by slapping both hands on my knees and dragging her nails slowly up my thighs. With wide eyes I look back up at her face as she brushes her fingers against the growing bulge in my jeans. I snap my hand on top of hers to stop her movements before I blow my load too early. She licks her fucking lips again before tightly gripping my thighs and spreading them further apart so she can stand between them. She leans in towards me rubbing her wet lips against my ear, the warmth of her breath sending shutters down my spine as the sweet smell of her shampoo clouds my senses. _This is not your first time at the rodeo, dipshit. Breathe. In, out, in, out._

"I lied, Finn," she whispers, breathing heavily into my ear. My breath catches in my throat when she leans back to look me in the eyes and spreads her legs, purposely flashing her pink lace panties and lifts them one by one onto my lap so that she's straddling me. Grabbing my hands, she places them on her ass as every ounce of blood in my body rushes south below the border to where her heated, wet center is separated from mine only by my clothes and the thin fabric of her panties. I dig my nails into her ass to keep my fingers from ripping every scrap of material separating her skin from my touch. Her eyes grow bigger as she settles herself on top of my boner.

"_I'm_ the one who needs comforting," she adds, biting her lip in the sexiest fucking way I've ever seen and rocking her hips into mine forcing an "Uhhh" to slip from my lips. _This is must be what heaven is like. I must be dead. _

My brain erupts with obscenities in _every fucking language_ but the only word I manage to croak out is,

"Rachel…"

I squirm uncomfortably, wishing I'd removed my goddamn jeans before my nap. I'm pretty sure I stole them from the _Baby Gap _they're so fucking tight right now. I stare at the ceiling, my gaze boring a hole in the roof. **MailmanMailmanMailmanMailman MailmanMailman.**

Rachel drags her nails down my chest, stopping to squeeze and play with my nipples as her lips attaches to my neck again. "_I want you, Finn._" She whispers against my neck before nibbling at it and dragging her tongue across my skin. "Do you want me?"

"Ohhh God, Rachel…I…"

"_Ohhh God, Rachel?"_

My face contorts into one of pain and confusion when I recognize the voice.

"_Finn! Wake up!"_

I groan and open my eyes, blinking my surroundings into focus. Reality hits me like a goddamn freight train.

He's standing over me with a shit eating grin on his face. "What the _fuck_, Kurt?"

"You were dreaming about _Rachel_ weren't you?" He laughs, pissing me off further as I will my porno laden brain to conjure an answer. "You're _sweating_, Finn," Kurt says with an air of disgust. "We're having dinner with your mom soon. Go take a shower." I turn over, groaning and throw a pillow at him as he retreats to the door. "…a _cold_ shower," he adds before cackling and slamming it shut.

**-xxxxxxxx-**

To say dinner was awkward would be the understatement of the year.

Whose bright idea was that dinner, anyway? I would rather have stuck Kurt's ugly _hippo_ _brooch_ through my eyelids. At least then I'd feel something.

Despite my mom's feeble attempt at appearing "stable" and "responsible" by throwing on a new dress – with the price tag still on it – and coating her face with the entire makeup aisle in CVS, I saw right through her charade. I've ridden the April Hudson "I'm sober now and things are going to change" denial-train one too many times. It's a non-stop express right back to Liquiorville - _Every. Single. Time_.

I made my opinion on the matter quite clear when I stood during dinner and stormed out of the room for the second time today, having heard enough about her supposed ex-drinking problem and her now ex-boyfriend. Living through it once was enough, thank you very much. I wasn't interested in another trip down memory fucking lane.

At least that was my attitude until she found me in the pool house and tugged on what's left of my heart strings with talk about how things really _are_ different this time, how _sorry_ she is for leaving me and that she'll _never_ do anything like that again. Not that I haven't heard it all before but the look in her eyes and the strength in her hand squeezing mine brings me a sense of hope I didn't have before. And I caved.

I wasn't forgiving her yet – fuck no. But I was willing to give her another chance. That's what you do for family, right?

The bile in my stomach churns with dread about tonight's stupid charity event and I let out a heavy sigh; _Casino Night_. If history is anything to go by, this is not going to end well. My mom, gambling and liquor all in one room = _disaster_.

I force myself up to start throwing on another one of Mr. Hummel's suits, hoping deep in the pit of my soul that this time things really _will_ be different; that I'm not placing all my chips on a bet I'm bound to lose.

**-xxxxx-**

With the oddly sober (but looking very pretty tonight) version of my mom on my arm, we follow Mr. and Mrs. Hummel and Kurt inside. I step off of the Newport Beach Yacht Club entry carpet and through the doorway right into the freakin' Las Vegas _Bellagio, _seriously. What I saw earlier today pales in comparison to this shit. It's amazing what a bunch of bored, rich housewives can do with a wad of cash and a ton of free time - all in the name of _charity_ of course. I adjust my tie, feeling like fucking George Clooney in _Ocean's 11_ strutting through the doorway like I'm about to rob the place.

I leave my mom with the Hummels and head towards the bar to get us both a _seltzer - so fucking lame._ I'm impatiently taping my fingers against the bar -_ how long does it take to make a freakin' soda, seriously? -_ when a squeal to my right catches my attention. I turn just in time to catch Rachel in a tight black dress, clapping and jumping around excitedly with the biggest smile on her perfect face. Those real life tits from my dream bounce up and down in slow motion - _freely,_ I'm 99% sure she's not wearing a bra - like she's Pamela Anderson in the opening credits of _Baywatch_. Only instead of holding a rescue tube, her hands are full of poker chips and it's _fucking hot. _Oh and that dress she has on? Is she trying to kill me? It's black and tight and it should be_ illegal_. My mind drifts towards the dream I had earlier.

The bartender slams the sodas on the counter, snapping me back into focus and my heart aches when I recall what Rachel said earlier. _"You were right... We're from two different worlds.." _I send her one last glance and head off with the drinks.

I find my mom already at the blackjack table. "Thank you, honey," she says, thanking me for the drink and sliding half of her chips in to bet.

"Aren't you betting kind of big, mom?"

"It's for charity!" She leans in closer, her voice lower. "Besides, the count is _way_ positive."

"You're counting? It's not a single deck."

"Oh honey, if I teach you anything in this world,_ the count goes way higher with multiple decks._" She smiles and winks reassuringly.

"Blackjack!" The dealer declares.

"Oh!" My mom replies, acting surprised. "Woo!" She laughs, hugging me. "See honey? My luck is turning around already." I internally groan. Luck is never kind to the Hudsons.

She gives me some of her chips with, "I'll be fine. You don't have to babysit me," and after a few rounds pass and I feel confident she's not going to jump head first onto the booze train, I leave her be. Kurt finds me as I'm wandering through the slot machines.

"Got a sec?" He asks.

"What's up, man?"

Kurt nods his head towards the craps tables, before his eyes widen and he rambles on at a rapid pace, hands flailing as he speaks. "So, I was just walking past the table, didn't even know he was there until the dice flew off the table and into my leg. I bent down to pick them up and came face to face with Blaine. Blaine! Can you believe it? Anyway, he just stared at me with his hand out like he wanted the dice so I dropped them into his hand and he smiled - _smiled_ at me! - before turning and chucking the dice. Next thing I knew he was clinging to me, calling me his_ lucky charm_ and insisting I touch the dice before every throw. And he keeps winning so it's true! I'm his lucky charm! Which is _great_ if only - "

"Kent! Oh, Kent! Get over here, it's my turn again!" Blaine calls from one of the craps tables.

"Kent?" I ask Kurt, raising my eyebrows, trying to hide my smile.

He purses his lips, clearly not as amused as I am. "So far I've corrected 'Kevin', 'Kipp' and 'Kale'," he says, counting off on his fingers. "'Kale'! ... as in the _seaweed_. I mean, really?" Kurt sighs dramatically, in total _Fancy Pants_ fashion, before Blaine wails "KENT!" yet again and Kurt stalks back to the craps table. The guy may seem annoyed that Blaine has yet to get his name right, but I know he is loving every minute of it.

After Kurt leaves, I scan the room, deciding enough time has passed that I should check up on my mom. She's where I left her, playing Blackjack. She catches my eye and smiles, but after noticing the worried look on my face, she shakes the drink in her hand and mouths "Tonic water. Go have fun", with a shoo of her hand. I return the smile and nod, somewhat relieved. Turing back towards the slot machines, my eyes land on the one person I've been dying to talk to all night.

Placing my hands in my pockets, I stroll over to the empty machine next to her and take a seat.. Rachel's eyes flick towards me. "Hi," I say.

"Hey," she replies, smiling. She turns her head towards the sudden loud laughter and cries of joy coming from the blackjack tables. "Is that your mom?"

"Yeah," I reply, hoping like hell that she wasn't lying to me and it's the excitement that's getting to her and not a bottle of vodka.

Rachel nods and pulls down the lever, waiting until it dings before speaking. "She came back, so, I guess that means you're going home."

"Yeah... I guess." I put some coins into my slot machine and pull the lever.

"Well, good luck with everything," she mumbles, swiveling her body to get up off the stool. I grab her arm to stop her.

"Rachel, wait, please," I plead. She turns back towards me, her face a mask of sadness, similar to her face on the night of the fire that's still burned into my brain. My stomach clenches.

Her eyes search mine, landing on my lips as she whispers, "I'll miss you."

A throat is cleared behind us and her eyes flick back up to mine before she shakes my hand from her arm. Rachel leaves before I have a chance to say another word. Jesse walks into my line of sight then, glaring at me before marching in the same direction Rachel went.

I'm frozen in place for a good minute or so, contemplating the words that slipped from those beautiful lips when I hear a loud crashing noise. I know the cause of the commotion before I even look in her direction.

Sure enough, April Hudson is sprawled out on the floor with a tray of spilled drinks and a waiter, hysterically laughing. By now, every pair of eyes at the event is focused on her.

"What the hell is your problem?" The waiter asks, offering his hand to help her up.

She slaps it away. "What's my problem? What's _your_ problem? Just back off." She turns on the floor, attempting to get up when she sees me. "Oh, Finn. I-I must've tripped. It's these damn shoes," she stutters, gesturing towards her heels. "OOPS!" She yells, laughing. I crouch down to my mom's level, but don't move to help her up yet.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Rachel, pushing through the crowd and telling some criticizing jock pricks, "Hey, shut up." She stands there, looking uneasy like she wants to help but isn't sure what to do. Jesse the King Douche comes up behind her.

The room is quiet, besides the accusatory whispers of the onlookers and the muttering of my hysterical mother. "Why don't you just quit staring and help me up, ok? Get me up!" She yells. "I said HELP ME UP!" Mr. Hummel bends down next to me and tries to help her up but she struggles against him. I don't do a damn thing to help. I don't even move. I look away from my mom and up at Rachel. Jesse glances between us, steps forward and helps Mr. Hummel with my mom.

"Finally! Geez!" She mumbles, once standing.

Mr. Hummel pulls the keys out of his pocket and hands them to Kurt, who I hadn't even noticed before. "Kurt, why don't you go get the car. April, maybe you had one too many?"

"Noo, I -" she mumbles, swaying between Mr. Hummel and Jesse. "What are you looking at?" She spits towards an onlooker. "Finn. Where's Finn?"

Her calling my name enables me to stand, and I remove her arm from around Jesse and thank him for helping. "I'm right here, mom."

"Honey," she sighs, rubbing her hand on my chest. "I'm so sorry. I ruined it, huh?"

"It's ok, mom. It's ok," I repeat, leading her towards the door.

"No, I ruin everything. You _hate_ me," she whines.

I shake my head. "I don't. I love you, mom."

Mrs. Hummel clears her throat from behind us and turns towards the room, speaking loudly. "It's ok, everyone! It was just an accident... She's with us."

I sneak one last glance back into the room and my eyes land on Rachel. She's standing next to Jesse. They're holding hands.

.

We put her to sleep in the bed in the pool house. I sleep on the couch next to her.

The bed is empty when I wake in the morning.

Exiting the pool house, I see her, packed and ready to go as she talks to Mrs. Hummel. When she turns towards me, I see the tears in her eyes. She smiles. She doesn't speak, she just waves.

After a moment, I wave back.

As she's walking through the back gate, I wonder if I'll ever see her again.

.

Once she's gone, I follow Mrs. Hummel into the kitchen. Kurt and Mr. Hummel are preparing breakfast.

"Hey," Kurt says, somberly.

"Where's uh -" Mr. Hummel starts.

Mrs. Hummel cuts him off. "Finn's going to stay with us now."

Kurt smiles. "That's awesome. I mean, that's awesome right?" He asks me, smile growing wider by the second.

"Yeah," I respond after a brief pause.

"Come on, I have so much to tell you," Kurt says, marching out of the kitchen.

I follow him, stopping in the doorway. I turn towards Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, my lips turning into a grin.

"I'll unpack later."

**-xxxxxxxxxx-**

**AN: SO, please don't hate me for making April Finn's mom. It was the easy choice seeing as Carole is Kurt's mom already and the bigger character. And yes, I am aware of the fact that April is like a barbie doll and Finn is the size of a sky scraper so it's incredibly illogical that he would come out of her. Just imagine April to be much, much taller in this fic. ;)**

**Hope the chapter was worth the wait. AS ALWAYS, PLEASE LEAVE SOME LOVE! :)**


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